


apartment twelve

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Miscarriage, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Romance, Sexual Content, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 97,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: Eager to start over, Carol moves into a new apartment. When she meets Daryl, she's given a very different chance for a new beginning - and for a happy ending that she stopped believing in.





	1. the book

**Author's Note:**

> A few things I want to say about this:
> 
> 1\. Yes, I know I started another multi-chapter a while ago and never continued it *hides in shame* I haven't abandoned that. I just lost inspiration. I meant to start writing that again today, but then this idea hit me instead and I went with it.
> 
> 2\. This undoubtedly has some similarities with my fic _the storm_ , which is why I initially didn't want to write it. But I hope I can turn a similar set up into a different story and explore a different version of these characters. I hope you'll enjoy this :)

_Are you sure you don't want us to help you with all that?_

 

Lori's voice is soft with concern as she points to the cardboard boxes scattered and piled all over the room, her cheeks glowing, forehead covered in a fine sheen of sweat from hours of carrying things up the stairs.

 

Of course, the elevator would be out of order the day Carol moves in. Maybe it's a bad sign, but she chooses not to think like that. This is a new start. The start of something good.

 

She shakes her head. _No, you've helped me more than enough._ She directs her smile at both Lori and Rick, who dismissively waves his hand after setting down the last bit of furniture - a small coffee table she'd found at an antique store a few week ago.

 

_Well, if you need help, you know where to find us,_ Lori suggests, smiling brightly. Carol can't quite believe they live in the same building now. _And you'll come down for dinner tonight. No arguing._

 

Carol sighs, her mouth half open in an attempt to decline any more help from her friends. She's defenseless against her best friend, though. _All right._

 

_Great,_ Lori says with a clap. _Come down at seven. I'm making lasagna._

 

Carol nods, not quite able to bite back her grin because while Lori isn't the greatest cook, she does make mouthwatering lasagna. She walks Lori and Rick to the front door of her apartment, the decades-old wooden floorboards creaking a little under their combined weight.

 

_Thank you both so much,_ she says for what feels like the millionth time today. But she feels like she owes them too much not to say it again and again. Not just for today, but that's too large a debt to ever pay.

 

_It's no big deal, Carol,_ Rick assures her. _We're glad you're here now._

 

_We are,_ Lori repeats, stepping out into the hallway. _See you tonight._ She leans in for a hug, thin arms embracing her and Carol smiles. _And keep your eyes open for Daryl, okay?_

 

Carol laughs, lightly smacking Lori's shoulder with her hand. _Will you stop already?_ Rick looks a little confused, hands on his hips, watching them.

 

_I don't think I will,_ Lori quips as she pulls back. She actually winks at Carol before turning around and making her way to the stairs, Rick trailing behind her with one last wave in Carol's direction.

 

Shaking her head, Carol leans against the door frame, looking after her friends until the sound of their footsteps fade.

 

Lori had made it possible for her to even get this place. Had told her about it as soon as she heard that the old lady who used to live here was planning to move into a nursing home. Had put in a good word for her with the landlord before he even had a chance to put the apartment on the market.

 

She doesn't really believe in fate anymore, not after everything the universe threw at her so mercilessly, but the way it all worked out so smoothly in the end almost makes her wonder if this was meant to be.

 

Sighing at her own foolish thoughts, Carol heads back inside, pulling the door shut behind herself and pressing her back against it. Catching her breath for the first time today.

 

The place is small - much smaller than the apartment she lived in before. But that had been on the edge of town, meaning she had a thirty-minute commute to work every morning. Now, the corner bookstore is no more than a ten-minute walk away. She never needed much space anyway.

 

The front door leads into a small hallway, the two doors on the right leading to her small bedroom and the bathroom while the small arch ahead reveals the living area, kitchen included. It's small and worn, and she almost mournfully remembers her old kitchen back at the house.

 

But she'll never have to go back _there_ again.

 

The entire apartment boasts high, freshly painted ceilings and large windows. The white paint is beginning to peel off the window frames, revealing a coat of whimsy baby powder beneath. The wooden floorboards have plenty of scratches and dents but she loves them all the more for it. Everything here feels old, full of charm and untold stories.

 

Right now, everything is a mess, though. Furniture jammed up against the walls, heavy cardboard boxes piled up next to it. A few bags of groceries sitting on the granite kitchen counter.

 

She doesn't even know where to start. As motivated and as excited as she was about moving here, she feels a little overwhelmed now.

 

Sighing, she pushes herself away from the door, deciding she should probably put the food away first and then start from there. After all, she has plenty of time.

 

 

 

 

Three hours later, she's sitting crossed-legged on the living room floor, her ass numb by now as she pulls book after book from a cardboard box, sorting them alphabetically. The shelves on the wall are empty, beckoning her to put the countless books up there.

 

She's made some progress, putting all her clothes into the built-in closet, putting brand new sheets on her bed, unpacking half of her boxes labeled _kitchen_. The door to the balcony is pulled wide open, allowing the early summer breeze to fill the room. Faintly, she can hear the rush of cars and the sound of children laughing at a nearby playground. It's all relatively quiet, though. Peaceful.

 

Craning her aching neck, she reaches for the next book. Her heart tightens when she looks at the cover - lined with years worth of dust. For a long moment, she stares at it, wondering why she never threw it away after-

 

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. She jolts, nearly dropping the book. One quick glance at the clock propped up on the sofa between boxes full of blankets and throw pillows tells her she still has a while before she has to head downstairs for dinner.

 

Slightly confused, she puts the book down and rises onto her feet, her legs tingling as her blood flow returns to normal. She'd taken off her shoes earlier and the floor feels cool and smooth beneath her feet as she hurries over to the door.

 

When she pulls it open, her lips part slightly in surprise.

 

_Oh._ That must be Daryl.

 

The guy Lori won't stop talking about. Won't stop teasing her about. Ever since he started working as the janitor here two years ago, Lori never missed an opportunity to fill their conversations at work with the latest sightings or run-ins with him, her descriptions of him always vivid, her tone always teasing.

 

It took Carol a few weeks to figure out what Lori was trying to do - and her initial fear that her best friend was about to break up with her husband of thirteen years and run off with the janitor was rendered useless.

 

She was trying to spike _her_ interest instead.

 

_I think you'd like him,_ she'd told her one day during their lunch break after a particularly colorful retelling of Daryl installing the new washing machines in the basement.

 

After that, Carol tried not to listen whenever her friend tried to stir her interest in a man she'd never even seen. For all she knew, he wasn't nearly as attractive as Lori kept promising. And even if he _was_ , she's just not really interested in men anymore. She's had enough bad experience to last her a lifetime.

 

It's been five years since her divorce, and other than those three disastrous dates with Tobin, she's never dared to consider being with anyone again.

 

Only now, she's standing right in front of who she assumes is Daryl, and every uninterested, dusty fiber of her being suddenly awakens with a drawn-out hum, stretching their tired limbs.

 

With all her elaborate descriptions, Lori had not done him justice. He's _gorgeous_. Tall, broad shoulders and narrow hips, sun-kissed skin stretching tautly over strong arms. Short, dark blonde hair that's beginning to grow into his eyes - piercingly blue even in the poorly lit hallway. The bones of his face are sharp, the shadow of a light stubble on his cheeks and jaw, trailing down his neck.

 

There's a roughness to him that stirs excitement deep in her veins, the kind of excitement she's almost forgotten about. It's a thought she instantly dismisses, though. She's had enough of _rough_. Although she has to admit, Ed had been a different kind of rough - rarely detectable on the outside.

 

_Afternoon, ma'am._ A shiver runs down her spine at the deep drawl of his voice, but she shakes it off, pulling herself out of her inappropriate revelry. Who is she? Staring at him like a parched woman in a desert. _Daryl Dixon,_ he introduces himself, reaching out his hand. _'m the janitor here._

 

She swallows the lump that suddenly formed in her throat, her hands feeling clammy when she reaches one out to shake his.

 

_Hi,_ she says hoarsely, barely recognizing her own voice. His palm is warm and calloused, his handshake firm. It only lasts a second, though before he pulls away again.

 

Somehow, the can still feel his touch tingling on her skin.

 

_Didn't get a chance to introduce myself last week,_ he explains, starting to fish around in his pocket. She'd been here a lot last week, letting in the delivery people with some new furniture, cleaning, painting the walls.

 

_That's all right,_ she says, desperate to slap some sense into herself and get rid of the tremor in her knees and the warmth in her veins. She's being ridiculous.

 

_Just wanted to let ya know that ya can call me anytime if somethin's up. That's my number on there, an' that's the plumber and the electrician we work with. So, if ya flood the bathroom or somethin', better call him straight away. Anythin' else, y'ain't gotta bother with 'em. Just lemme know._

 

She takes the card he's offering her, plain white with his name, mobile and landline number on it. The plumber and electrician he scribbled down himself.

 

_Thank you._ She offers him a kind smile which he doesn't return. Instead, he looks down at his heavy boots and she thinks she can see the hint of a blush tinting his cheek. But that's of course just her imagination.

 

_Gonna let ya get settled,_ he mutters then, burying his hands in his pockets. _Hope ya... Hope ya gonna like it here. 's a good place._

 

She nods, nervously twisting the card around and around. _I hope so, too._

 

He looks at her curiously for a moment, but then he spins around and marches away. Just like before, she waits and watches until she can no longer fear his footsteps.

 

Only now does she realize that her cheeks feel way too warm, and a rush of embarrassment makes her cringe at the thought that she stood in front of him like a complete idiot. Sweaty, disheveled, barefoot and with a blush worthy of a fumbling teenager.

 

As she heads back inside, she makes a silent prayer that nothing in this place will ever break and that her path will never cross Daryl's again - she's not ready to make a complete fool of herself. She also mutters a curse under her breath that's directed at Lori for all past and future teasing she will surely have to endure.

 

With a frustrated sigh, she shuts the door and heads back to the living room. Her fingers still clutch the card he gave her, his messy handwriting causing the corners of her mouth to quirk into a smile which she quickly suppresses.

 

Shaking her head, she tosses the card onto the coffee table, kneeling down to reach for another book when she remembers the one she grabbed before. It's still there on the floor, mocking her.

 

_T H E   B A B Y   B O O K_

 

The sadness she felt before quickly heats into anger, and she grabs the book with a furious grasp, sending it flying across the room. With a thud, it hits the couch. She gulps down a deep breath, fighting the sting of tears in her eyes.

 

It was so long ago.

 

This is supposed to be a new start. She can't let it haunt her still.

 

Her eyes linger on the book for a while before drifting away, taking in the light-flooded room around her. This can truly be hers. Truly new.

 

When her eyes land on the card on the coffee table, her heart skips a beat before she quickly goes back to work, a mountain of books still waiting to be sorted.

 


	2. bad day

It's almost nine by the time he makes his way down to the basement. The smell of good food greets him when he walks past the Grimes' apartment on the ground floor, but so does the wailing of their son Carl. He's too old to be wailing like this. And too old to still not get that he's not supposed to drive his damn bike in the hallway. There are a few fresh dents in the wall and Daryl groans at the sight. He'd just fixed around a dozen of them last week. Soon enough, he's gonna screw metal plates to the walls.

 

The stairs down to the basement creak like something out of a cheap horror movie, the milky, stained-glass lamps on the walls not helping much. He's been meaning to ask Dale to do something about this - maybe a fresh coat of paint, get some guy in to fix the stairs, buy some lamps that don't look like they've collected a century's worth of dust. But as cooperative as Dale is, he's always going on and on about the charm of this place, the history. And apparently, creaky stairs and shoddy lamps are a part of that.

 

Someone left the light on in the laundry room again, and he flicks it off with a roll of his eyes. It's not the first time it happened, but he doesn't really have a way of finding out who the perpetrator is unless he installs cameras or takes up permanent residence in the hallway. Neither of which seems like a good solution. He'll just keep switching off the light every other day - changing the light bulb a little more often than usually required, too.

 

He passes the few storage units this place has, all closed up with doors made from old wooden planks. Another thing that needs to be replaced eventually before they grow legs. There aren't enough units for everyone in the building so some have started sharing them. It's really none of his business as long as they don't keep storing their damn trash in there again, stinking up the hallway. That happened a lot last year until he put up a note on the door to the basement. Red printed words and all. It worked.

 

His apartment is at the end of the hallway, if _apartment_ is even the right word for it. It's tinier than even the smaller apartments upstairs, just one room with a small kitchen area and a bathroom off to the side. The guy who lived in there before he took over the job hadn't cared a dime about what the place looked like. Ain't like he's into interior design, either, but he didn't exactly jump for joy at the idea of living in a room that looks exactly like the laundry room down the hall. Gray tiles on the floor and walls, flickering, cold light. No. So, he'd asked Dale to change some things and he'd been all too eager to allow him to.

 

_Make it your own,_ he'd said with a clap on the shoulder and a warm smile.

 

It still doesn't look like much, but it looks better, at least. He'd knocked the tiles off the walls, but a new coat of plaster and paint on them. Plain white, making the small space look a little more open. He gave the small windows a fresh coat of paint, too. Hated the shitty blue of them. He ain't some old cat lady, after all. Not that the windows have much of a point. There are shutters in front of them that keep out most of the light, and all he can see through them - if he stands on a chair - is the small courtyard outside. Not much to see.

 

The tiles on the floor are gone as well, replaced by cheap laminate, but that had been all he could afford. It's not very forgiving considering he walks in here with his dirty boots but it's ultimately what makes the place look like someone actually lives here, instead of a laundry room turned refugee camp.

 

Most of his furniture is old and worn, the leather of the couch cracked in some places, the table covered in paint splatters and scratches, the rug on the floor sporting at least two dozen loose seams. He never even bothered buying a proper bed, just squeezed his mattress into a corner on a couple of old pallets and separated it from the rest of the room with a shower curtain because that was the only thing he could find that didn't cost a damn fortune.

 

He could probably donate his TV to a museum somewhere, too. But he never watches much anyway, so he never saw the point in buying a better one.

 

With a relieved sigh, he unlocks the door, switching off the hallway light and slipping into his place. Kicking off his boots, he makes a straight line for the fridge, disappointed when all he finds is a packet of cheese and some butter. Damn. He meant to go shopping after work today.

 

Only today had turned out to be an utter nightmare. The exhaustion sits deep in the marrow of his bones, his feet aching and his back hurting just as bad.

 

Gregory on the second floor had filed the third complaint this month, this time going on about a rattling sound in his heater. So, he'd spent an hour kneeling on the douche bag's living room floor, fixing something that wasn't even broken.

 

Denise asked him to help her and Tara with a new dining table they ordered but the delivery man refused to help carry it upstairs. They'd offered him cookies in return - he's never been as disappointed as he was when he realized they were oatmeal and raisin instead of chocolate chip.

 

He made around fifteen calls about the damn elevator, trying to get someone to fix it as soon as possible. Fixing the thing is a little above his pay-grade - and even if he could, he doesn't have the equipment. And he's not about to climb an elevator shaft and break his damn neck.

 

If he doesn't get someone to fix it by the end of the week, though, he's pretty sure Gregory will file complaint number four. Sometimes he wonders if the guy has nothing better to do than complaining, making himself important and, judging by the stench in his apartment, drinking.

 

Between all that, making three separate trips to the hardware store and doing some small jobs here and there around the building, he was shattered.

 

Grabbing the cheese from the fridge, he shuffles through some cupboards, pleased to find a box of crackers. That's all for dinner, he decides with a sigh, flopping down on his couch.

 

The last bit of sunshine floods through the small window and the shutters, casting a chessboard-shaped shadow on the opposite wall. It's days like these he almost wishes he lived upstairs with a small balcony to sit on and enjoy the last hours of the day.

 

But he doesn't. He could go outside, take a walk, make the trip to the store after all. But his legs protest at the mere idea and so he props them up on the coffee table instead. Watching TV doesn't seem all that tempting right now, either.

 

Merle called him three times earlier, but he ignored him. He could call him back now. But he hasn't heard from him in months and he's probably just in trouble again. Right now, he doesn't have the patience to deal with his brother's crap.

 

Instead, he heads under the shower after finishing a handful of crackers with cheese, washing away the day's sweat and dirt. The hot water feels too good on his aching muscles and so he lingers much longer than usual.

 

Under the hot spray and with soap and shampoo foaming on his skin and hair, he allows his mind to wander a little. From small nothings like the fact he wanted to try that cereal he saw an ad for earlier on the way to the store. Or that he really needs to buy new sweatpants because his are falling apart at the seams.

 

But then his mind drifts to the new woman up on the 4th floor. Her name is Carol, he'd put up her name tags on the doorbell, mailbox and her door yesterday morning.

 

Dale already gave her the keys early last week even though she wasn't supposed to move in until today to give her time to get the place ready. But he never got a chance to introduce himself then because he had two days off - both spent in the woods outside of town, hunting and sleeping in a worn tent. Just him and the sounds of the wild.

 

After he returned, he might have caught her in the hallway at some point, but instead, Dale asked him to come along to a two day trip to Virginia to see some antique dealer in search of authentic old wood to replace the paneling on the hallway ceilings. Daryl hadn't exactly been very thrilled to go and look at wooden planks for two days straight, but Dale trusts his opinion and he didn't want to let the man down after everything he's done for him.

 

Even if he doesn't exactly _have_ an opinion on the damn planks other than the fact he'll be the one to screw them to the ceiling.

 

Ultimately, he didn't get a chance to see her until today. Introducing himself to new residents is one of his least favorite parts of this job, although it's been a while since he's had to do that. The last one to move in had been the Hamilton girl - Amy - almost a year ago and he's seen her all of two times since then.

 

Those are his favorites. The ones he never sees. Except for a handful of others. Denise and Tara are all right, maybe even his friends. So are Aaron and Eric. Most of the other residents are fine, not many of them trouble makers.

 

He hopes Carol will be the same. There's not much he knows about her other than that she's friends with Lori Grimes and that she helped her get the apartment. Dale had mentioned she works down at the little bookstore on the corner of Hilltop Lane and Alexandria Square, same as Lori. But that's the extent of his knowledge. Ain't his job to know stuff about the residents anyway.

 

She was pretty, that didn't go unnoticed. With her silver hair like a pixie or something. A cherry-colored blush on her cheeks. The kind of pretty that made him stutter, nervous and fumbling like he never saw a woman before. With her freckles that spread from the bridge of her nose all the way to the line of her shirt where they disappeared. With eyes the same shade as a spring sky.

 

He turns the water off then, shaking the last droplets out of his hair. He needs to stop thinking like that or he'll end up staying in the shower even longer than he already has. It's inappropriate, anyway. She just wants a place to stay, not some creep thinking about her damn freckles under the shower.

 

Maybe he really needs to get laid again before his thoughts get the better of him. It's been forever. But he doesn't want to waste a thought on something he can't change anyway.

 

Reaching for a towel, he quickly dries himself without much care. His legs are dry as fuck and he should probably do something about that before he scratches the skin off his bones, but he doesn't want to smell like a field of flowers because of some lotion either.

 

He's just gonna have to live with it. He's had worse, after all.

 

Half-heartedly, he runs his fingers through his hair and over the stubble of his beard, wondering if he should bother shaving.

 

Not tonight.

 

Twenty minutes later, he's back on the couch with a can of soda because he ran out of beer, too, and a bag of potato chips in his lap.

 

As expected, there's nothing but crap on TV. He zaps through a few channels for a while but nothing sparks his interest. Conspiracy theories about aliens, some soap opera with people crying over someone who inconveniently got hit by a bus the day before his big career move, a talk show with celebrities he neither knows nor cares about, some horror flick that's more gore than anything else.

 

In the end, he watches about twenty minutes of a documentary about freaking penguins before he crumples up the now empty bag of chips and switches off the TV.

 

His bed is cold but inviting and he burrows himself into his pillow, knocked out cold not even five minutes later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments on the first chapter, they make me very happy :)
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I'm coming up with _all_ the little headcanons about this apartment building - so expect some cameos here and there. I drew a floorplan of the building. No joke.


	3. treasure chest

Morning light floods her bedroom, tickling her awake. Last night, she didn't have the motivation to put up the curtains, and she almost regrets it now. One glance at the clock tells her it's just past seven - too early to be up on her day off.

 

Then again, she has plenty of work to do, so she might as well drag herself out of bed now. Laziness is something she wasn't allowed to indulge in for way too long, and it's something she slowly learned to cherish over the past few years.

 

A Sunday morning spent in bed. Evenings curled up on the couch with a mug of steaming tea and a good book. A long, drawn out bath with lotions and flickering candles.

 

Luxuries she wasn't allowed before.

 

Stretching out her aching limbs, Carol pulls open the window, inhaling the balmy air. Someone is cooking nearby, the smell of pancakes filling her nostrils and her stomach grumbles on cue.

 

With most of her pots and pans still stashed away in boxes, she has to settle on pouring herself a bowl of cornflakes. Grabbing that and a cup of steaming coffee, she heads out onto the balcony. With her legs curled under her, she closes her eyes, lets the sunbeams warm her skin.

 

This is good. This is _it_ \- what she always wanted.

 

Her last apartment had been almost twice as big as this, but the neighborhood had been sketchy at best and the building falling apart from low maintenance. Nobody cared about the mold and the cracks and the moaning wood.

 

It had been cheap, though, and a salvation after her divorce. Nobody wanted it, so when she inquired, she'd been given the key the same day. Fleeing from her deteriorating marriage, it had been a perfect shelter.

 

This, though. This feels like she finally arrived where she always wanted to be. This can be her home.

 

* * *

 

_Damn it,_ she mutters, rattling the key but the mailbox just won't open. By now, she's pretty sure it's stuck in there permanently and will break the second she tries to pull it out. That would be just her luck - breaking something on her first day.

 

_You have to turn it in the other direction first._ Carol startles at the unfamiliar words, turning her head to see a man around her age approaching. He has a paper bag full of groceries in one hand, the other curled around his walking stick. _It's a bit tricky._

 

_Oh,_ she says, staring at the key in question.

 

_Just turn it a little to the left and then back to the right,_ the man explains and she decides it's worth a try.

 

It works like a charm.

 

_Thank you._ She offers the man a kind smile, one that he returns.

 

_You moved into twelve, right?_ he asks, setting down his bag and rummaging through his pocket for his own key. Carol nods, pulling one letter from her mailbox. _I live in eleven, next door. I'm Morgan,_ he introduces himself, offering her his hand.

 

_Carol,_ she replies, shaking his hand. _I hope it wasn't too noisy yesterday. We moved a lot of furniture around._

 

He waves dismissively before opening his own mailbox. E _veryone makes noise when they move in, but I barely heard a thing. Don't worry._

 

She's glad to hear that. The last thing she wants is angry neighbors.

 

_Thanks,_ she says with a sigh of relief. _I have to go, lots of things to do. It was nice meeting you._

 

Morgan nods. _It was._

 

With a bit of an awkward wave of her hand, Carol turns back, heading past Lori and Rick's apartment and up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

It's locked. Frustrated, Carol groans, putting down the empty and folded cardboard boxes she'd carried up to the attic under her arm.

 

Once again, she checks the keys Mr. Horvath had given her. Front door, apartment door, mailbox, one for the basement although he said it's rarely locked. That's all. Not a single key for the attic. She doesn't remember ever having been given one either.

 

Not too keen on storing the boxes in her tiny apartment, she leans against the wall, wondering what to do.

 

Lori and Rick are at work, so she can't ask them for a key. Sure, she could wait until tonight, but the boxes take up too much space for her to do much else.

 

Maybe she could ask Morgan, he seemed kind enough. But she doesn't want to bother him with it, not when he'd already been so understanding of the noise. Calling Mr. Horvath and all but accusing him of not providing her with all the key seems like a stupid thing to do, even though the old man had seemed more than kind-hearted.

 

She groans in defeat, propping the boxes up against the wall and heading back down to her apartment. There's only one option left.

 

* * *

 

_Dixon._ His voice sounds like gravel on the other end of the line, and Carol feels a blush already creeping into her cheeks.

 

_Hi, this is Carol,_ she replies, fumbling nervously with the keys she threw onto her kitchen counter. _We met yesterday, I moved into twelve._

 

He just grunts in response, and she can clearly hear some rummaging in the background. He's busy. Of course. Fantastic.

 

_So, ehm,_ she stutters, swallowing the lump in her throat. _I meant to take some stuff up to the attic but it's locked and I don't have a key. I think Mr. Horvath must have forgotten to give me one._

 

Daryl doesn't reply straight away and judging by his heavy breathing and a dull thud in the background he's lifting something heavy.

 

_Ya sure y'ain't got one?_

 

_I am. Checked a few times._ He's annoyed. He _must_ be annoyed because she has barely lived here twenty-four hours and she already steals his time.

 

_All right,_ he says, sounding a little gruff but not unfriendly. _I'll be up there in five._

 

Oh. She didn't expect that. _Thank you,_ she mumbles, her stomach doing a little somersault that she didn't ask for. _I'll meet you there._

 

He just grunts again and hangs up. The beeping of the line nearly has her in a trance as she stares at the wall ahead, worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth.

 

 

 

_Hi,_ she greets him, waiting for him by the stairs that lead up to the attic. He looks just as gorgeous as he did yesterday, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and brows - the sight turns her mouth dry. _I hope you weren't too busy._

 

_Nah,_ he replies, pulling a massive key chain from his tool belt. Her eyes almost instinctively follow his hand, but she quickly looks away when she realizes she's essentially staring at his crotch.

 

Only, when she looks up, he's eyeing her with creased brows and a light flush. He noticed. Shit.

 

_Oh, well,_ she says a little breathlessly, wondering why she's being such a fumbling mess. _Thank you, anyway._

 

_Ain't a prob-_

 

The sound of one of the apartment doors opening silences Daryl and the two of them turn to look. Carol feels her mouth dropping open almost comically at the sight, eyes widened just the same.

 

_Good day, Daryl,_ the tall man greets, voice a deep baritone. Daryl's only reply is a grunt and a nod, and he seems unfazed by... everything.

 

Carol, however, doesn't know where to look first.

 

The jewels in the man's hair. His floor-length coat. The heavily adorned belt he wears. Or the small, ginger cat by his feet that he's leading on a leather leash.

 

His eyes find her then, head tilting curiously to the side. _And a good day to you, too, my fair lady,_ he announces, bowing down a little. _I do not believe our paths have crossed before._

 

Carol just stares at him dumbly, wondering if this is a joke. Clearing her throat, she eventually manages to squeak out _hello_.

 

_She just moved in,_ Daryl explains,and when Carol turns to face him, she's a little surprised to see the hint of a grin curling his lips. _Don't go creepin' her out with all ya crap._

 

_Your charming personality never ceases to amaze me, Master Dixon._

 

_Yeah, yeah, your majesty. Go on,_ Daryl mutters, waving a hand at the man and turning his attention back to the massive amount of keys he carries. That leaves Carol alone with the other man's attention.

 

_My name is Ezekiel,_ he introduces himself. _May I inquire what you are called, fair maiden?_

 

This has _got_ to be some kind of a joke, Carol thinks, barely able to suppress a laugh. _Carol,_ she chokes out.

 

_A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,_ Ezekiel declares, slowly shutting the door behind him. _I must go on with my day and leave you two to fulfill your duties. It was a pleasure meeting you,_ he says, bowing once again and all Carol can do is nod. _Come along, Shiva. We're running far too late as it is._

 

In complete and utter disbelief, Carol watches as Ezekiel proudly walks towards the stairs, his cat following close behind. When his footsteps have faded, she looks at Daryl for answers.

 

_What was that?_ she asks, no longer able to stop herself from chuckling.

 

_Ezekiel,_ Daryl says, apparently finally having found the right key. _That's his real name._

 

The name hadn't been the problem here. _Is he... Well..._

 

_He ain't a creep. I mean, he's weird,_ Daryl snorts, pointing up to the stairs and Carol begins to climb them, Daryl not far behind. _He's an actor. Couple months ago, he got cast in some play. Playin' a king. He's been like that since then. Practicing or somethin',_ Daryl explains, stepping past Carol when they reach the door.

 

_Ah, method acting,_ Carol mutters, watching a little too intently as Daryl slides the key into the lock.

 

_Huh?_

 

_Nothing,_ she quickly replies, feeling caught once again and looking down at her feet instead.

 

_Anyway, y'ain't gotta worry 'bout him. He ain't a psycho or anything,_ he reassures her, pulling open the heavy, creaking door. _He's a decent guy. Just a little-_

 

_Weird,_ Carol finishes for him, and Daryl nods. A small smile haunts his face, quite the mesmerizing sight and Carol finds herself too intrigued by it to look away. This time, he thankfully doesn't seem to notice.

 

The attic is stuffy, having conserved the day's warmth and turned it into a dense heat. Sweat instantly begins to dampen her skin, and she takes a curious look around the place. It looks even older than the rest of the house, all exposed woodwork and the smell of old furniture and dusty boxes filling the air. The smell reminds her a little of the book shop. Sunlight filters through some cracks in the tiles, and dust dances in the sunbeams like fireflies at night.

 

It's almost magical, filled to the brim with odds and ends.

 

And that seems to be a problem.

 

_The fuck's all this shit?_ Daryl curses, coming to an abrupt halt. The attic is separated into over a dozen sections by wooden pillars and fences, and all of them are filled to the brim. _All_ of them. Including the one labeled 12.

 

_Ya gotta be shittin' me._

 

_That's not my stuff,_ Carol says, eyeing the leftovers of someone else's life. If she hadn't already known there was an elderly lady living in her apartment until a few weeks ago, she'd be looking at the proof right now. Antique furniture, dusty books, a golden bird cage and a towering lamp are just some of the things she can see at first glance.

 

_Yeah, I figured,_ Daryl replies, taking a step closer to what should be her section of the attic. _Wasn't here when the old witch moved out an' I guess Dale didn't check if her folks cleared all this._

 

_Witch?_ Carol asks, running a hand over a rather fascinating velvet armchair. The color is a deep emerald green, faded a little from years of dust and sunshine. It's still marvelous.

 

_Yeah, she was a real peach,_ Daryl explains, picking up a small snake-patterned purse with a disgusted expression. _Gotta get rid of all this. 's your place now._

 

That puts a smile on her face, and when he notices, he instantly looks away.

 

_What are we going to do?_ she asks, opening the lid of an old suitcase and nearly gasping when she sees a whole array of very old clothes in there. Her fingers itch to take them out, her curiosity nearly getting the better of her. This is like a treasure chest.

 

_Y'ain't gotta do nothin',_ Daryl says, snorting when he pokes at a delicate looking music box, a small, dusty ballerina sitting on top of it. _Ain't your fault they left it all here. 'm gonna call Dale, see if we can contact her folks._

 

Carol nods, closing the suitcase again. None of this belongs to her, after all.

 

_Ya can just put your stuff out here 'til we figure it out,_ he offers, pointing at the makeshift hallway. _Ain't nobody comin' up here much anyway._

 

_Thank you,_ she breathes, relieved beyond belief to have a place to store her things after all - even if it's just temporarily.

 

_'m gonna grab them boxes for ya,_ he says then, pointing back towards the door and giving her no time to disagree before he's marching back there with wide strides.

 

_You don't have to do that,_ she insists, feeling the same familiar unease she always struggles with whenever somebody offers her help. It's a habit that's too deeply ingrained to shake.

 

But Daryl just brushes off her concern and carries the boxes inside for her. All she can do is watch, her cheeks flushed and a nervous - almost shy - smile curling her lips.

 

As they make their way back down the stairs, she can't help but stare again. Something about him is intriguing, and she's beginning to understand why Lori never could stop talking about him. Not that she's interested in him the way Lori so desperately wants her to be. No.

 

She doesn't need the trouble of that.

 

_'m gonna let ya know when I know if her folks are gonna get rid of all the crap,_ Daryl explains then, coming to a stop in front of the door to the apartment next to Ezekiel's.

 

_You're not coming down?_ she asks, wondering in that same second what kind of a difference that would have made.

 

Daryl shakes his head, knocking on the door three times. _Got something to do._

 

She doesn't quite know why, but she's a little disappointed. _All right,_ she says softly, her smile wearing thin. _Thank you. For helping me out._

 

For a brief second, she thinks she can see the hint of a smile on his lips again, but then the door opens and Daryl's expression changes in an instant. He almost looks embarrassed, staring down at his boots as the man with curly hair greets him with a polite _hello, Daryl._

 

The man looks at Carol curiously.

 

_I'll... see you around,_ she says then, almost too quietly for Daryl to understand. He nods, and before he can say anything, Carol quickly turns around and heads downstairs.

 

 

Morgan is heading into his apartment when she gets to her floor, and she briefly wonders what he's been up to all day. But her curiosity isn't strong enough to overpower how flustered she still feels and so she just responds to his kind smile with a _hello_ in passing.

 

The moment she closes her door behind herself, she starts worrying if that made her seem rude.

 

_Damn it._

 

There's no reason to act like this. Like a nervous mess.

 

It's the newness of everything, she tells herself, heading into her living room. Maybe a hint of undeniable physical attraction. That's all.

 


	4. intervention

_Who was that?_ Aaron asks, arms crossed in front of his chest and a shit-eating grin on his face that Daryl doesn't appreciate at all. He doesn't like where this is going and he has just barely closed the door behind himself.

 

_Carol,_ he replies gruffly, wiping his boots on the doormat inside the hallway. Aaron and Eric have one of the bigger apartments in the building, the ones with the separate kitchen and living room and a spare bedroom that they have turned into an office.

 

Their place always looks squeaky clean and fancy with all the old furniture and dark woods. Kinda suits this place, but it also serves as a reminder for Daryl that he's usually covered in sweat and dust.

 

_Moved into the witch's place,_ he explains, wiping his hands on his pants for good measure. Aaron is still grinning at him, pointing at the door to the living room. _So, what's up with them windows?_

 

_Won't open,_ Aaron explains, walking ahead into the light-flooded living room. A massive, dark green rug is placed in the center of the room, boasting a huge dining table. There's a chandelier, too. Not crystal but more industrial looking, all wreathed iron and copper. The chairs are plush and a neutral shade of gray.

 

The couch is squeezed into a corner by the balcony door - and Daryl knows from more than one night watching football with the guys how damn comfortable it is. But the real highlight of the room is the mural of license plates on the high wall. All sizes, colors and most importantly: all states.

 

Back when Daryl started working here, they'd still been missing a few, but ever since their trip to Alaska last spring, it's been complete. Daryl prefers it to some of the weird paintings he's seen in the other apartments. Gregory especially - with that weird dude up on his wall, looking like he stole it from a museum at some point. Golden frame and all.

 

_Hey, Daryl,_ Eric calls from the kitchen, a pass-through in the wall opening up the room and connecting it to the other. Daryl waves in response, heading over to the window in question.

 

It's jammed, all right.

 

He goes to work in silence as Aaron takes a seat on the couch, flicking through some political magazine and making comments here and there. Overall, it's a quiet company and that's how Daryl prefers it. They get it - his need not to have useless small talk or in depth discussions while he's working. Or ever.

 

Eventually, though, Aaron can't seem to hold in his earlier excitement anymore.

 

_So, someone moved into the witch's place,_ he announces to Eric, but the tone of his voice strongly suggests he wants Daryl to be part of the conversation too. _She's pretty, isn't she?_ he asks him, that same old grin on his face when Daryl looks up at him.

 

_Ain't ya supposed to be gay?_ he mutters, quickly focusing on wiping away some oil from the window frame with a rag. She's pretty, all right. If only they knew just how pretty - with the sunbeams in her silver hair and a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes as she took in what little treasures the old witch left behind.

 

From his periphery, he can see Aaron shrugging. _Doesn't mean I don't see when someone is good looking._

 

_Ya shouldn't really care, though, right?_

 

He needs to get out of this conversation, especially now that the window opens and closes smoothly. He can only check that so many times before he looks like he's losing his mind.

 

_I don't,_ Aaron clarifies, edging forward on the couch. _But I thought maybe you would._

 

Stuffing the oily rag into his back pocket, Daryl is ready to give him a piece of his mind when Eric interrupts him, calling over from the kitchen. _How pretty are we talking?_

 

_Very._

 

Daryl groans, shutting the window one last time and straightening his shoulders as if that would put an end to this. _Don't know what'ya both gettin' at but I don't wanna hear no more 'bout it._

 

Aaron raises his brows, softly shaking his head. _I don't think I want to know what you think we're talking about,_ he chuckles, pushing himself off the couch when Daryl moves towards the door.

 

Eric's head peaks out of the kitchen, the smell of his well-known pasta sauce filling the place. Daryl can feel his mouth watering. _Are you staying for dinner?_ he asks, looking him up and down. _You should. You lost weight._

 

Daryl rolls his eyes. _Ain't that what everyone always wants?_

 

Eric grins at that, leaning against the door frame. It's Aaron who speaks next, standing right behind Daryl and looking a little nervous. _There's something I've been wanting to ask you._ Eric shoots him a warning glare and Daryl suddenly feels uneasy, light a deer caught in the headlights. Aaron shifts his weight from one foot to the other, seeming less confident than he usually is. _When was the last time you've... been with someone?_

 

It takes Daryl a moment to figure out what the hell Aaron is talking about, but when he does, he can feel himself tensing up in defense instantly. _What?_ he asks in disbelief, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. _Ya wanna know the last time I got laid? Ain't really any of y-_

 

Aaron lifts his hands in defeat, shaking his head. _No. Not just sex. The last time you were_ with _someone._

 

Anger simmers in his veins. This isn't something they do, all this talking. _Man, what's it matter?_ he mutters, feeling more than a little shame and embarrassment tearing at him from the inside because the answer is _never_. He's never _been_ with anyone. Not like that. But admitting that to anyone seems like baring his soul and that's something he's unwilling to do.

 

_I'm just thinking that maybe..._ Aaron sighs, his expression caught somewhere between regret and genuine concern. _I think it would be good for you._ His pause is loaded, the tension in the room thick. _You're lonely._

 

Daryl snorts without much humor, arms still crossed in front of his chest and feeling cornered. _Man, Denise been teachin' ya 'bout her shrink stuff?_

 

Usually, Denise is the one to ask him crap like this. Deep stuff, or something. She's a psychiatrist, after all. Had taken a shine to him when she and Tara moved in. Maybe she just genuinely likes him for some reason, or maybe his shitty childhood and abundance of issues are plastered to his forehead like neon signs. Maybe he's good for practice. The two of them are nice enough, though, and so he doesn't mind being psychoanalyzed without his consent over dinner every now and then.

 

But to downright say he's lonely - no matter how much truth there may or may not be to that - that's something not even Denise has pulled. _We're your friends, Daryl. It's not hard to miss._ Eric's voice is soft and full of concern and Daryl feels the rough part of himself pushing through. The nasty, rude persona that he partly inherited from a bloodline worth of drunken assholes and partly got beaten into him.

 

S _o, lemme get this straight,_ he says grimly, trying not to spit at them because they _are_ his friends - it's just that he's not used to people pestering him about his well-being. Usually, it's the very opposite. _Ya think I'm lonely so ya want me to what? Ask the pretty neighbor out for a date?_

 

Aaron's eyes light up, and he clearly bites back a smile. _So you_ do _think she's pretty._

 

He doesn't know why he let that slip. _Ain't blind,_ he mutters, eyes cast down at his boots. That cursed flush heats his cheeks again - it's always either that or lashing out and he can't help it. _Just ain't interested._

 

Aaron sighs. Not in annoyance, but rather in defeat. _Just think about it. Was she nice?_

 

It doesn't seem like he's about to let this go anytime soon. Aaron is dedicated, that's something Daryl finds impressive about the guy. A little too good-hearted at times but with an unexpected backbone to him.

 

He shrugs, eager to get out of here and buy some damn food. _She sure as hell don't want no creepy janitor to get on her nerves._

 

Aaron laughs at that. _You're not creepy. You're a good looking guy, don't sell yourself short._

 

Rolling his eyes, Daryl turns towards the front door. _I'm gonna go,_ he grumbles, waving his hand in defeat. He can forgive them both easily, but he's not keen on continuing this conversation.

 

_Stay for dinner,_ Eric offers, taking a step after him.

 

_Nah, thanks._ He does offer them both something like a smile, stepping out into the hallway, ready to get out of here and finally buy some food, call Dale on the way to settle things about the attic.

 

Eric's eyes darken a little, and he slaps Aaron's arm lightly. _I told you to leave him be._

 

_Can still hear ya!_ Daryl calls over his shoulder even though he already took a few steps down the hall. The two men laugh a little, and Daryl hopes dearly that this was the first and last time this topic came up.

 

* * *

 

He's loading four boxes of cereal into his cart when he sees her.

 

Silver hair and long legs, wearing that same white shirt that had made him blush earlier. Clinging to the curve of her waist.

 

She's reading the back of a jar of something he can't make out from the distance, and his heart makes a leap in his chest at the sight of her.

 

A small basket dangles from her arm, filled mostly with fruit and vegetables. But there's also the telltale shine of silver foil wrapping paper- and he counts four bars of chocolate in total.

 

She's rocking back and forth slightly, moving along to the quiet music playing in the store. It's a small place, feels familiar and almost cozy even though it's smack in the town center, just a ten-minute walk from the apartment building.

 

People here know each other.

 

He indulges himself in looking at her for a second longer, Aaron's words creeping into his mind like a pestering ache. It's like he thinks his life is some kind of crappy movie. The kind where a woman like her would look at a guy like him twice.

 

Only, she _had_ looked earlier. He doesn't know why, but she had. Had even looked shy when he caught her doing it. Self-consciously, he'd checked himself for dirt the second she wasn't looking. But he's always a little messed up. Not good looking the way Aaron insisted.

 

The type of women that look at him twice are the kind he needs to scratch an itch. In the bathroom of a bar, in the back of his truck. Quick actions, sometimes not even a name, the taste of alcohol and cheap lipsticks on his tongue.

 

It's always been enough.

 

Or so he thought.

 

He doesn't know why, but the sight of Carol makes him wonder if it really _was_ enough or if there's more truth to Aaron's claim of loneliness than he's willing to admit.

 

One way or the other, she's neither the cause nor the solution to his problems, and so he heads out of the aisle on quick feet, rushing through the store to grab what he needs.

 

He doesn't see her again that day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There probably won't be an update tomorrow because Fridays are always really busy for me. But I'll try to update on the weekend :)


	5. flowers and a key

Carrying both these boxes at the same time had been a terrible idea. Sweat is making her clothes stick to her skin, her arms and back are aching, her thighs growing sore with each step she takes up the damn stairs.

 

If only the elevator was working. She sighs at the thought, taking another step that brings her just a little closer to her apartment.

 

The boxes are filled to the brim with pots in all shapes, sizes and colors, flowers that are vibrant, small or tall, soft or proud. There are some herbs in there too - basil and sage, thyme and rosemary - for a dash of green and something useful to add to her small oasis. At least, that's what she wants her balcony to become. Eventually. She's excited to use these herbs for cooking as soon as they grow a little bigger.

 

Right now, though, the combined weight of it all is making her doubt her plans, all those colorfully crafted ideas she'd painted in her head at the garden center suddenly a little overwhelming.

 

_Lemme help ya with that._ She recognizes the deep, gravelly voice instantly, her heart rate picking up even more. Her breathing was already strained but she's pretty sure she's all but gulping down the air now - smelling a little stale in the hallway, a hint of old wood and dust to it.

 

Daryl climbs the stairs two steps at a time, the keys on his tool belt jingling. He catches up with her in no time, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

_Thank you,_ she gasps, too exhausted to try and talk him out of taking one of the boxes from her aching arms. He looks away instantly, slowing down his steps to match hers as they make their way upstairs.

 

_That's a lot 'o flowers,_ he says, nodding down at the array of colorful petals on display in his boxes. She'd definitely gotten more than a little carried away, isn't even sure where to put half of the plants she bought. But the excitement of decorating this new apartment is hard to keep at bay.

 

_I didn't have a balcony at my old apartment,_ she explains, feeling a twinge of shyness and almost embarrassment at her indulgence. Daryl doesn't strike her as someone with a great appreciation for flowers. _Want to make the most of it._ She shrugs as best as she can with the box still weighing her down, allowing a smile to dance across her face.

 

Daryl nods at that, and Carol allows herself a moment to really look at him for the first time since he caught up with her today. He looks like he spent a lot of time outside today, his skin a little flushed and glowing, a few strands of his hair sticking to his temples. He's wearing a different shirt, too. A dark blue button down that clings to his torso and broad shoulders, and she has to tear her eyes away before he catches her again.

 

Staring at a small pot of Jasmine instead, she wills away the flutter in her lower belly.

 

_Bet it's gonna look real pretty._ Well, that's not helping at all, she thinks, feeling her cheeks dimple as she smiles.

 

_Thank you._

 

He looks a little bashful, adjusting the box in his arms and that move causes his shirt to ride up for one small second - long enough for a jolt of heat to rush through her veins and her tongue to dart out to wet her lips. Long enough for her to catch a glimpse of his abdomen and a fine trail of hair leading down to-

 

_Was gonna come see ya anyway,_ he says and for a short moment, Carol is convinced her hormone-driven brain made that up.

 

Before she can stop herself, before she can make her brain comply with the licking flames in her veins, she responds to him in the worst way possible.

 

_Were you, now?_ she asks, her voice much lower than before and with a lilt to it that makes her eyes widen the second the words leave her lips. This isn't who she is. At least not anymore. She used to be this girl. Confident, flirty. Always with a quip on her lips, something to tease. But Ed beat that out of her quickly enough, calling her a whore for just talking to a man - let alone in this tone.

 

Daryl seems just as shocked as she is, if not more. She doesn't miss how he takes a step too much at the top of the stairs, nearly stumbling when his foot meets nothing but air before stomping down on the ground. His cheeks are flaming red, his blue eyes wide.

 

Something tugs deep in her abdomen when his Adam's apple rises as he swallows.

 

_Ehm,_ he mutters, looking at the floor, then at her, then at her apartment door further down the hall. _Yeah, I was- Was gonna give ya the key._

 

It's been a while since Carol felt this embarrassed and this eager to disappear into the ground. There's something, though - something undeniably curious about Daryl's reaction. He _looks_ like the type of man who would jump at the tone of her voice and be all game. But the way he acts - and doesn't look - at her, the way his voice sounds strained and his body moves uncertainly... It's all tinged with so much shyness that it distracts Carol from the relentless tugging in her groin. Instead, it steers something else into a focus, a light flutter in her heart - delicate as the flower petals she carries.

 

_Oh, thank you,_ she replies with a dry throat, stopping in front of her door and setting down the box. _That's kind of you._ Glad for the distraction, she fishes through her bag until she finds her keys, unlocking her door and pushing it open, all while ignoring Daryl's presence.

 

_Dale really forgot 'em,_ he explains then, setting down the box he'd been carrying and digging through his pocket until he produces a small key. _Says he's gettin' old._

 

There it is again, that tiny hint of a smirk. Carol can't help but laugh in response, gladly taking the key from him. She'd been borrowing Lori's key to take a few more things upstairs, but she prefers having her own.

 

Daryl shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hands buried in his pocket. The late afternoon sun filters in through the windows, catching in his hair. Distracting her again. Quickly, she reaches for one of the boxes to carry it into her hallway, just behind the door.

 

She's just about to ask him what will happen to all the stuff up there when he beats her to it. Either reading her mind or being just as desperate to fill the silence as she is.

 

_Says he's gonna try an' contact her grand-kids 'bout all the crap. Apparently ain't that easy._ He sounds almost apologetic, which is ridiculous and she dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

 

_I can wait,_ she reassures him, dragging the second box inside. Now that there's nothing more to do, she lingers in her own door frame, wanting desperately to say something, anything.

 

_Gotta get goin',_ Daryl says before she can make up her mind about what to say, and she feels that same hint of disappointment again she felt yesterday when he stayed upstairs.

 

Or when she saw him at the grocery store down the road later that day. Heading out just as she lined up to pay. Her mind had gotten the best of her then, spending the five minutes she stood in line imagining walking home with him, the warm breeze kissing her skin, talking about nothing important, just little things like what type of apples he prefers and how he likes his coffee. Kissing him on the cheek with a whispered _goodnight_ on the doorstep and-

 

No. She had _not_ thought that at all. Not until now, and her eyes are staring at the cheek in question without much effort to hide it. She tears them away, lingers just a brief second on the mole just above his lips before clearing her throat.

 

If he noticed, he doesn't show it (and she has a strong feeling she'd be able to tell if he did catch her). _Gonna call someone 'bout the elevator. Try an' get it fixed by the end of the week._

 

_That's something to look forward to,_ Carol chuckles, definitely happy to hear that dragging her things up the stairs will soon be an ache of the past.

 

_'kay. Ehm-_ Daryl looks at her with a curious expression, almost as if he's holding back a question of some sort. _Gonna go._ Carol worries the inside of her cheek with her teeth, biting back a glowing smile because how can he look like.... _him_ and yet be so... sweet? The word almost feels like a crime to even consider but there's too much truth to it. _See y'around._

 

He's turning around already, barely giving her enough time to respond.

 

_I hope so,_ she says quietly but loud enough for him to hear, her heart pounding as her stomach flutters nervously. Daryl freezes for a moment, only his profile visible to her - and just before he turns around and heads down the hall with a low _yeah_ , she can see his mouth curling into a smile.

 

He has just barely reached the stairs when someone else walks past him.

 

Lori.

 

Daryl nods at her in passing, too quick on his feet to notice the grin on Lori's face. Carol however, doesn't miss it at all. After all, it's directed at her as Lori rushes towards her.

 

_Don't look at me like that,_ she groans, rolling her eyes. She quickly steps inside of her apartment, not very eager to have the unavoidable conversation within Daryl's earshot. _And don't even say it,_ she adds for good measure when Lori slips inside and closes the door.

 

_Say what?_

 

_You know what I mean._ Shaking her head but offering her friend a contradicting smile, Carol heads to the living room.

 

_I wasn't wrong, though, right?_ Lori asks, sinking down onto the edge of the couch and looking at her expectantly and excitedly at the same time.

 

There's little point in lying to her friend, and denying that Daryl is easy on the eyes would be ridiculous anyway. _Guess not,_ she sighs, sitting down on one of her chairs. They are a little lost in the room because she's still not sure where to put the dining table. It's too heavy to move alone anyway - at least if she wants to avoid scratching the floors any more than they already are.

 

_Ha!_ Lori exclaims, the grin on her face brightening. _That's progress._

 

_What?_ Carol asks, more than a little confused.

 

Lori tilts her head a little, a glint in her eyes nearly making Carol squirm. Lori is a kind woman. Polite, calm. A little hot-headed at times. And determined if nothing else.

 

_You never said Tobin was gorgeous._ Carol's eyes nearly roll into the back of her head at the mention of Tobin's name. He works at Home Depot, and she'd been a regular customer there when she passed it every day on her commute to work.

 

He'd helped her out a few times. Polite. Kind. So, when he asked her out, she'd agreed even though the idea of going out with anyone terrified her.

 

After three dates, however, she had to admit that she only agreed out of curiosity, because he showed interest. Not because there was an actual spark.

 

_I never said Daryl was gorgeous, either,_ she clarifies, toying with a tiny loose seam on her jeans. She may not have said it out loud, but she knows that Lori knows she _thought_ it.

 

_No,_ Lori confirms with a smile. _But I did. And you just agreed with me._ She sounds almost triumphant, that glint in her eyes turning into wildfire.

 

_Stop it,_ Carol huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She's not entirely sure what she's asking Lori not to do, though.

 

It doesn't seen like it matters anyway.

 

_I don't think I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter for you today. As expected, I couldn't update sooner – turns out I was sick instead of busy, though. And then today, may new laptop (which I bought 6 months ago) decided to die on me. Which is frustrating and annoying and all those things.
> 
> I did manage to save all my WIPs and notes and random story ideas, though – so no worries what that's concerned. And I mostly write on my phone anyway whenever I have a free minute. But I do edit and post on my laptop. I still have my old laptop and it kind of still works – but it's not exactly reliable either. So, It's quite possible I might not upload for a few days until I figure this out. If we're lucky, the old laptop works fine and you guys won't suffer from this, though :)
> 
> I'll still keep writing. Posting may just be a little delayed depending on the mood of the tech gods. 
> 
> Rambling aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	6. the park (part I)

Next week. Next fucking week.

 

Daryl wanted to punch the uptight guy from the elevator company when he told him that was the earliest they could send someone over to fix the damn thing. Next week.

 

He'd promised Carol to get it fixed much sooner. Not that it matters. Not like he _really_ promised anything. But she'd seemed so hopeful and now... Now he's half-heartedly pinning a message to the board by the mailboxes. Informing everyone of the delay and hoping it will keep them from getting on his nerves about it.

 

Everyone except Gregory, of course. But he stopped listening to him a long time ago.

 

It's a miracle the elevator ran as long is it did. It's as ancient as the house and he never liked using it much. The clattering of the metal and the constant screeching sounds weren't exactly reassuring.

 

Casting a glance at his watch, he decides to call it a day. The tiles he wanted to fix in the laundry room can wait until tomorrow. With tired limbs, he drags himself down to his apartment, taking off the tool belt and starting to toe off his boots when he suddenly changes his mind.

 

It's a nice evening, warm and with a cloudless sky and he has too much frustration bottled inside of him to relax, anyway. A walk is just what he needs.

 

Not that he cares much for all the other people who hover around the park - he'd prefer the woods. But that would require a fifteen minute drive and that's too much of a hassle. Plus, he needs to check the tires on bike and his truck is currently loaded up with bags of concrete for the courtyard. He's not dragging that extra weight halfway though town.

 

He heads back upstairs without another glance back at his apartment, passing Maggie on the way up the stairs.

 

_Hey, Daryl,_ she greets with a smile, carrying a basket of laundry. His eyes catch on her belly for a second before he greets her back, wondering if she ate a big dinner or if he missed the latest gossip.

 

He hates gossip. But it's impossible to avoid here.

 

One way or the other, ain't his damn business. Good for her and Glenn. He likes them. They make no trouble. He likes Glenn cause he's a good kid, likes Maggie cause she's tough as nails and keeps giving Gregory shit.

 

And damn, if that hasn't brightened his day more than once.

 

Rick is in the hallway upstairs, dressed in his uniform, hat tipped back as he reads the elevator message. He nods at him in silence and Daryl returns the gesture, pushing past him and out of the front door into the balmy evening air.

 

* * *

 

The park is as busy as he expected it to be, but he knows his way around by now and knows which areas to avoid if he wants at least a little privacy.

 

The smell of freshly cut grass lingers in the air and he inhales it deeply, closing his eyes for a few breaths as the gravel path crunches beneath his boots. The warm air feels almost cooling against his overheated skin, spending the day ripping out stone tiles in the courtyard nearly having brought his blood to the boiling point.

 

Leafs rustle in the slight breeze, forming a canopy above him that shields him from the sun except for a few rays that peak through - casting a delicate pattern on the ground.

 

He loves this place. It's different than the woods. Shaped and designed. But over the last few decades, nature has clearly taken over again, trees growing large, moss covering marble statues, stone breaking off the many fountains, painted benches fading in the sunlight, iron wreaths turning rusty.

 

There's another fountain hidden behind a large willow, and rarely anyone ever goes there. That's where he's headed. Through the archway of roses that climb up the iron frame, past the small field of yellow wild flowers. A woman passes him, earphones in, running at a decent pace and not sparing him a second glance.

 

He's about to head off the path when he suddenly hears a slightly familiar voice.

 

_Daryl?_

 

He whips his head around, feeling his face flush red and his heart stutter. Fuck this. He needs to get a hold of himself - not like before when he'd damn well nearly fallen up the stairs just because her voice changed to something... different.

 

For a moment, he can't quite believe she's really here, walking towards him with a smile and the sunlight sparkling in her silver hair. It seems a little surreal, just like seeing her at the store yesterday.

 

_Hey,_ he says weakly, his throat dry and he coughs to cover that up. _What- what'ya doin' here?_ he asks, realizing what a dumb question that is before it has completely left his mouth. What is anyone doing here?

 

She grins a little, coming to a stop in front of him. _Stalking you,_ she replies with a dead serious expression and he stutters out a weird sound a second before her face lights up and she breaks out laughing. He joins in a little hesitantly, wondering what the flutter in his stomach means.

 

Most likely, he's just hungry. Or the milk he had this morning was starting to go sour.

 

_Enjoying the evening,_ she explains then, her voice a little softer but her eyes shining just as bright. _You?_

 

_Same,_ he shrugs, and suddenly the conversation is lost again. He should say something. Do something other than stand here like a complete idiot. But she beats him to it.

 

_Do you come here a lot?_ she asks, waving her hand around, pointing at nothing and everything.

 

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. _Sometimes._ Often enough to know his way around. But he ain't the type of guy to hang around the park every damn day. Maybe if he had a dog. But he ain't got the time for that.

 

Carol's eyes flicker down to the ground then, almost shyly, and he can tell she's chewing on a question. He has a whole bunch of his own, things he wants to know about her but can't explain why. Something about her is endlessly fascinating.

 

_Do you mind showing me around a little?_ she asks then, her eyes wide as doe eyes but as blue as the sky, and her freckled cheeks tinted in the most beautiful shade of pink. It reminds him of the sunset.

 

Her words take him by surprise though, his brows disappearing beneath the hair that's beginning to grow into his face. She seems to misinterpret his moment of surprise, huffing out a humorless laugh.

 

_It's okay if you don't want to. I'm sure you'd like some time for-_

 

_Ain't a problem,_ he interrupts her, his hands sweaty in his pockets and his heart beating like he's running a marathon. A part of him doesn't want to agree. Wants to be left the hell alone, wants to avoid making a fool of himself in front of her.

 

But that part doesn't stand a chance against the other. The curious one, the one that wants to show her all the hidden corners and share the secrets of this place with her.

 

Even though he can't explain why.

 

_Can show y'around,_ he says much more quietly than he intended, and her face lights up like goddamn fireworks on the fourth of July - as if the prospect of walking through the park with him holds any kind of excitement.

 

She doesn't say anything after that, just walks next to him as he follows the gravel path - ditching his plan of heading to the willow. That's his secret spot. He won't share that.

 

Not today, anyway.

 

They walk in silence, the gravel crunching beneath their feet and he glances down at her sandals, toes painted a bright pink, and he wonders if her feet hurt from the uneven ground.

 

She's a grown woman, though. Either wear something other than sandals or be quiet about it.

 

_It's lovely here,_ she says after a while, a smile curling her rosy lips as she takes in the park around them. Water from a small stream ripples nearby, the even melody mingling with that of the birds above. He just nods, a little distracted by the sight of her, bathed in sunlight.

 

So far, he hasn't exactly _shown_ her anything. But he isn't quite sure what to say, either. He ain't a damn tourist guide, after all. Much to his surprise, the silence that follows doesn't feel uncomfortable, though. As they walk side by side, he realizes that this doesn't feel any worse than walking by himself. He doesn't feel smothered. Watched. The way he usually does in the company of someone he doesn't know.

 

She doesn't seem to mind the silence, either. Whenever he dares to look at her, she's smiling softly, trailing her hands over flower petals or tree bark, kicking pebbles away with her shoes.

 

When they get to a crossroads, he finally finds something to say. The weathered old wooden sign points in two directions. The Rose Maze to the left and the Diamond Fountain to the right.

 

_Where'd ya wanna go?_ he asks, coming to a stop. A small family passes them, the mother pushing a stroller and a little girl bouncing past them with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. He doesn't miss the way Carol pauses, her eyes fixed on the little girl for a moment before she pulls herself put of her stupor.

 

Inspecting the sign with creased brows, she shrugs. _What do you prefer?_

 

He thinks for a moment. _Maze is pretty busy and there ain't much to see. Fountain's pretty impressive. Lots o' people there, too, though cause they put the food stands there._

 

Carols eyes light up. _Food? I'm starving._

 

He huffs out a laughter, his reaction making her blush. _All right. Fountain it is._

 

That settles it. He could do without the crowd, but he hasn't eaten dinner yet, either and his stomach growls on cue to remind him.

 

_Guess I'm not the only one?_ Carol asks, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes that damn near makes him stumbles again.

 

He's not usually this clumsy. That never served him any good. Would have earned him a beating as a kid, given people more more tease him about as he grew older, would give him away out there in the woods, make him bad at his job.

 

But around her... It drives him mad.

 

Aaron's voice creeps into his head as they make their way towards the large fountain. That he's lonely. That _being_ with someone night be good for him.

 

It's easy to imagine in this place. _Being_ with her. Holding her hand in his (delicate, and probably soft to the touch). To come here with her - together. Sit at the edge of the fountain and eat ice cream, talk about their day.

 

Nothing about any of that would usually tempt him. But he can't quire shake the thoughts from his mind.

 

It's stupid, though. They ain't here together. Ran into each other, that's all. He could imagine the same thing with any other random woman around. She didn't ask him to show her around because she wanted _him_ to show her around. Might have asked anyone else she knows by name.

 

Just needed a guide.

 

That's all this is.

 

Nothing more.

 

No holding hands by a fountain, no kisses stolen by the rose bushes and- _Jesus_ , he watched too much of that soap opera last night. He's going soft.

 

And he learned the hard way never to be that.


	7. the park (part II)

_Ice cream for dinner, huh?_ His question is accompanied by a chuckle and Carol looks up at him with narrowed eyes. Her hands are curled around the massive ice cream cone, three huge scoops of chocolate, chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie batter ice cream beckoning to her.

 

_Don't look at me like that,_ she bites back, tempted to stick out her tongue at him but keeping herself in check. Something about him makes her overstep lines that she probably should not cross. Lines she carefully tended to for years and years.

 

His eyebrows disappear under his messy bangs. _Like what?_

 

As they step away from the ice cream truck - painted pink and pastel green like a candy store - Carol takes her first lick of what is more than a respectable dinner - humming a little at the rich taste. _Like you're judging me,_ she replies, holding the cone out to him. _You should try it, too._

 

Did she really just offer him to try her ice cream? Her hand lingers in the air between them, Daryl’s eyes flickering down for a second before he seems to gather himself and huffs out a breath.

 

_Hell no, that ain't no dinner._

 

Quickly, she pulls her hand away shaking off the hint of embarrassment she feels. _What are you having, then?_ she asks, scanning the rows of food trucks. Everything from sandwiches to burgers, crepes to pretzels, ice cream to pizza. It's a wonderland, really, all against the backdrop of towering willows and one of the most beautiful, delicate fountains she's ever seen.

 

_Guy over there has the best hotdogs in town._ Daryl points at a truck a little further down the pale gravel path, framed by small patches of purple flowers. They make their way over there in silence, and Carol focuses on her ice cream - and the nagging thoughts she can't quit shake.

 

She still doesn't have a clue why she asked him to show her around - it's not like she needs a guide to take a walk in the park, after all. But running into him again had felt almost like the universe offering her an opportunity, and she'd been reluctant to let it pass. So, the words slipped from her mouth before she could over think them, before she could dwell on them long enough for fear of rejection to spike up. Not that being rejected by him should affect her in any way.

 

She doesn't regret asking him. So far, he's been pleasant company. He doesn’t seem to be the most talkative person but for the most part, she doesn't mind the comfortable silence. Especially in this place, it seems almost suited.

 

As they stand in line - the smell of caramelized onions filling her nose and making her mouth water - Carol looks at his profile. Sharp jaw and clear, blue eyes. All those curious question she wants to ask him linger on the tip of her tongue, most of them far too inappropriate to ask a stranger. Too intimate or personal. But she feels restless from the weight of them, and so she decides on a simple, safe question to pass the time until it's his turn to order. _Are you from around here?_

 

He looks a little surprised for a moment before shaking his head. _Nah. Small town, couple hours away. Ya wouldn't know it._ It's a factual answer but there's a hint of something else to his words, something she can't quite put her finger on. There's no fondness or nostalgia laced in his voice, though, that's for sure. _How 'bout you?_ he asks, pulling his wallet from his back pocket when they take another step closer. _Grew up here?_

 

Chewing on a large chunk of cookie dough, Carol shakes her head. _No. I'm from Atlanta. Moved here when-_ She pauses. Bringing up the fact that Ed relocated them here three months after they got marriage doesn't seem like best idea. Her ex-husband is not something she's ready to share with Daryl. _Moved here a few years ago,_ she says instead, but she can tell from Daryl’s face that he didn't miss her near slip.

 

Thankfully, he doesn't push for the truth. _Don't ya miss the city?_ he asks instead, turning away to order his food a second later.

 

As he does that, Carol ponders his question. She's ever really considered returning to Atlanta after the divorce. Early into their marriage, Ed had made sure to cut all her ties to family and old friends. Her parents died a few years before the divorce, and that had been the last time she went to the city. Her life is settled here, even though that was never really her choice.

 

_Not really, no,_ she shrugs when Daryl turns back to her, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. _I don't know anyone there anymore._ He nods in understanding, and she's grateful that he doesn't ask any questions that would be difficult to answer. Instead, he reaches up to take his hotdog from the man in the truck, and her eyes are drawn to the fluffy looking bun and greasy onions like a magnet. _That looks amazing._

 

He smirks at that, actually smirks, and she can feel that damn tug low in her abdomen again. The same she'd felt before when his shirt had ridden up, exposing skin and- _Told ya,_ he says, and she almost expects him to wink. He doesn't, though, takes a step away from the truck instead and she follows.

 

_Can we sit down?_ she asks, starting to feel a little tired. _I don't want to drop this._ She points at her excessive ice cream cone and Daryl snorts, nodding a second later and pointing towards the fountain down the path. It had been crowded when they first got here, but now a lot of people have scattered into different directions, leaving behind white marble and washed stone for them to sit on.

 

The rippling and splashing of the water is comforting as they sit down at the edge of the fountain, the stone warm through the thin cotton of her pants. She's almost tempted to kick off her sandals and dip her feet into the water - and she might just do that if there weren't so many people around.

 

_I like it here,_ she sighs, leaning back and closing her eyes for a moment as the gentle evening sun warms her face. The smell of food and green mingles perfectly, and she inhales deeply when the faint hint of chlorine from the fountain hits her nostrils, reminding her of childhood days at the public swimming pool. She's beyond grateful that she decided to come here tonight, to leave the apartment and explore the neighborhood instead of sitting at home and framing some photographs to put on the wall.

 

_Yeah, 's a good place,_ Daryl agrees before taking a huge bite of his hotdog, a few crumbs of bread falling down onto his lap and Carol smirks at that. He chews for a moment, brushing the crumbs off his thighs. _Ya like the apartment?_ he asks eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

_It's amazing,_ she sighs happily, feeling herself glowing at the mere mention of her new home. She can't even begin to put into words how much she loves it, the old walls and charming wood, the small balcony and creaking floors. _And it's so quiet. My old neighborhood was a nightmare,_ she groans, rolling her eyes. As she dives back into her ice cream, she remembers the sound of car alarms and late night fights, screeching women and hollering men. Dogs barking at the crack of dawn, music blasting down the hall.

 

Daryl snorts, speaking through a mouthful of food. _Just wait 'til Abe an' Rosita are back. Won't be quiet then._

 

Her forehead creases a little at the unfamiliar names. _Are they in the apartment next to mine? I knocked a few times to introduce myself but nobody opened._ It had only seemed polite to say hello. She doesn't intend on introducing herself to everybody in the building, but her next-door neighbors seemed like the natural choice.

 

_Yeah, they're in Texas for a couple of weeks,_ he explains.

 

_And they're noisy?_

 

He snorts. _One way of sayin' it,_ he mutters, taking another bite of his hotdog.

 

_What-_ she begins to ask, her curiosity sparked, but Daryl raises his eyebrows sky high and that is enough for her brain to catch up. _Oh,_ she mutters, sighing and rolling her eyes. _Oh. Great._

 

Daryl nods, swallowing the last bit of his dinner and crumpling up the greasy paper. _Good thing the old witch couldn't hear shit anymore._

 

She chuckles a little, this mean streak towards the former occupant of her apartment not really suiting him. _Why do you call her a witch?_ she asks, remembering the trinkets hidden away in the attic that, at first glance, spoke of a very normal elderly lady.

 

_Cause she was,_ he replies, shaking his head as his eyes go distant for a moment as if he's lost in thought. _Nasty old lady. 's like she had the Devil in her eyes._ Carol can't help but laugh at that, nearly spiting out some chocolate ice cream. Daryl looks dead serious, though. _Ain't kiddin'._

 

She tries to bite back her grin, not entirely sure how bad one old lady could possibly be. _That bad?_

 

_Yeah,_ he huffs, but then he goes quiet. She doesn't miss the way his eyes flicker down to her lips, lingering there for a moment and she suddenly feels too warm despite the cold ice cream melting in her mouth, her skin feeling raw and electric. _Ya got some- chocolate,_ he mutters, his hand lifting from his thigh and for a moment she thinks he's about to reach out and touch her but then he drops it again. _Ya got some there._

 

_Oh, thanks,_ she mutters, hoping the day's warmth is explanation enough for the flush on her cheeks. Quickly, she traces her lips with her tongue, finding the dot of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. Only, Daryl is still watching, his eyes a little darker than they were before and then he's looking away, staring at the fountain instead.

 

Carol hates the awkward and tense silence that follows. Still, she allows it for a moment to calm herself down before quickly looking for a distraction. Asking him another question she deems safe. _So, where did you work before this? Lori said you've been here for two years._

 

He's still looking at the fountain, the water cascading down the marble, crystal clear and twinkling in the late day sunlight. _Wasn't a janitor 'for this,_ he replies, and this time she can hear a sense of nostalgia in his voice. _Fixed bikes. 's what I always did. Cars an' bikes. But the guy who owned the shop where I worked moved to somewhere upstate an' sold the place. Wouldn't let me take over._ She's all but glued to his lips as he tells the story. This is the most he's talked since they met, and even though it doesn't sound like a very happy story, she can't help but be intrigued by the way he talks. _Couldn't find a job. Dale an' I, we go way back. He needed someone new._ He doesn't meet her gaze as he talks, looking a little uneasy. _The witch made the old janitor throw the towel._

 

_Seriously?_ Carol asks, her eyes wide. Maybe she underestimated the old lady.

 

_Yeah, he worked there twenty years and she apparently never liked him._ Daryl shrugs, finally looking at her with a timid glance. _Poor guy probably did nothin' wrong._

 

She thinks about what he said for a moment, wondering what that woman might have done to chase someone away after two decades. _Twenty years, that's a long time,_ she muses. She thinks back on where she was twenty years ago, fresh out of high school, madly in love, engaged, thinking the world was just on her doorstep. How wrong she'd been. _Do you want to go back to working with bikes? Is the one in the courtyard yours?_ She realizes she's all but bombarding him with questions now, a little afraid that the wrong ones might slip at some point. But she's so eager to find out more about him, and maybe he's loosened up a bit now and is willing to actually answer them.

 

_Yeah, 's mine._ She'd seen the bike out in the courtyard when she took the trash out this morning, black and shiny. She doesn't know anything about bikes but it looked like something to be proud of. Only, she hadn't had much time to take in the sight of it before she nearly ran right into Morgan and had gotten caught up in a conversation about the weather. _Don't know 'bout goin' back,_ Daryl continues, going back to her initial question. _'s a good job. Like the building, rent's cheap. Most of the people are all right. 'cept Gregory._ An annoyed look crosses his face.

 

_I haven't met him yet._

 

He huffs out an annoyed breath, leaning back on his palms. _Pray ya never will._ He tells her about the man, then. Stories and anecdotes that make Carol burst with giggles and groan with second-hand-frustration. Looses track and tells her different anecdotes about the house, stories and tales and he seems to bloom in front of her eyes, always eagerly waiting for her response.

 

After a while, long after her ice cream is finished, they move away from the fountain and roam the rest of the park, walking though neatly trimmed fields and watching a few dogs chase each other around. She tells him stories of her own, all the drama that took place at her old apartment building offering a wealth of funny stories, and he's a good listener. Whenever she manages to make him laugh or smile, she feels pride swelling inside of her, and funny enough, the same seems to be true for him. Every time she smiles at him, he blushes a little more.

 

_So, how 'bout ya?_ Daryl asks eventually, and she turns to look at him. The sunset is bathing him in a warm, orange light. _Y'always worked in book stores?_ She's about to reply when she stops and wonders how he knows that, her forehead creasing. He panics instantly, looking shy and bashful and quickly explaining himself. _Dale mentioned ya work with Lori._ That makes sense.

 

_Oh, no,_ she replies, feeling a familiar wave of embarrassment washing over her. She hates admitting to people that she never actually learned anything. It wasn't her fault, Ed holding her back from going to college or getting any kind of training. He wanted her to be a picture perfect suburban housewife, so that's what she became. _I- I didn't work for a few years,_ she replies, avoiding Daryl’s gaze because she has the unexplainable feeling that he knows there's more to her story. _Always wanted to be a nurse but... Well, it didn't work out._

 

He's quiet for a moment. _Sorry._

 

She turns to look at him, the red globe of the sun peaking through a line of trees behind his head - creating a picture perfect backdrop. _It's okay. I love books, so the store is perfect._

 

It's the truth. Getting that job had been a heaven-sent, and she never considered quitting in order to pursue other endeavors. It's quiet, peaceful, never boring. She gets to be around people but not in an overwhelming way, she gets to be amongst all those stories she always inhaled - infinite worlds and universes at her fingertips.

 

They walk in silence for a while, less and less people passing them. Carol can feel herself becoming tired, her eyelids heavy.

 

_Ya wanna head home?_ Daryl asks a second later, pointing at the orange sky. _'s gettin' dark._

 

She's reluctant to end the evening and their time together, but she knows they can't keep walking in his park forever. _Yeah, I have to go back to work tomorrow. Took a few days off._

 

If she hadn't done that, and if Mrs. Greene hadn't be kind enough to allow it, she'd be drowning in chaos in her apartment.

 

Daryl chuckles a little. _Better get ya to bed then._ There's a teasing edge to his voice she's not sure was intentional or if he even realized it, but it sure sparks a more reckless side of her.

 

_Will you tuck me in?_ she asks before she can worry about seeming too forward. She doesn't know why she's being like this, what about him makes her this... different, and yet not different at all. Maybe it's because she can't deny her attraction to him. Maybe because he blushes so hard and gets so flustered.

 

Whatever it is, it feels good.

 

He snorts, lowers his head a little. _Stop._

 

There's a lightness to his tone, and still his words make her falter. _Sorry,_ she mutters, feeling ashamed for acting the way she did. For being just like Ed always said she-

 

_'s all right._ Daryl's words are quiet and he looks at her through his hair, seemingly a little shocked at his own words. She's just as startled, her stomach fluttering in excitement.

 

They linger for a moment, neither of them quite sure how to proceed from here. In the end, they silently walk back home, side by side on the sidewalk as the sky begins to turn into a deep shade of dark blue. With the lights of the town illuminating their surroundings, Carol can hardly make out any stars.

 

Every step they make to approach their destination feels like a step too much. She relishes in the comfort of living on her own, but right now she has to admit - if reluctantly so - that it's Daryl’s company she truly craves. Just thinking that is bordering on ridiculous. They hardly know each other - for all intents and purposes, she should not be feeling like this. Giddy, charged. Excited.

 

His earlier words echo in her mind. _'s all right._ Had he just said that to comfort her, or had he really meant it? She's cautious to consider the latter, feeling self-conscious just at the thought of him meaning it. After all, she's not twenty-something anymore. Neither is Daryl, but most men she knows that look like him prefer the company of someone half their age. Young, pretty. Innocent.

 

She's not young anymore, not like that. Never thought of herself as pretty. And Ed beat away whatever innocence remained to her.

 

Daryl doesn't strike her as a liar, though. So maybe he did mean it...

 

She doesn't have to think about it much longer, though. They reach the apartment building and Daryl holds open the front door for her. With a grateful smile, she steps past him, her arm just barely brushing his stomach as she does.

 

Warm and firm and she's close enough to smell motor oil and pine on him from this distance.

 

The hallway is lit in a dim yellow from the old lamps, and Carol lingers at the bottom of the stairs. She knows he lives down in the basement - Lori mentioned it to her earlier. They're headed into different directions and it's time to end the silence between them.

 

_That was nice,_ she says softly, hoping that it doesn't come across as too cheesy. Then again, maybe she wants it to be just that and embrace it. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, she ponders an idea, gathering the courage to ask him. _Maybe...,_ she begins, taking a deep breath before trailing off into silence again. She can't ask. Not yet. Isn't ready to be that woman.

 

Maybe her own deflated courage is just the push Daryl needed to find his own. _Ya wanna do it again sometime?_ he asks instead of her, looking so utterly nervous that her chest flutters a little I sympathy and... something else.

 

A smile spreads across her face and she's pretty sure he can see the relief in her change of posture. _I'd like that,_ she says quietly and softly, a little afraid of breaking the spell. _You know where to find me,_ she adds with a quirk of her lips, hoping she's not pushing her luck.

 

Daryl does look a little flustered, but he also can't hide the little smile her words have tickled out of him. _Ain't ya gonna keep stalkin' me?_

 

Her earlier joke echoes in her mind and she shakes her head with a grin. _Stop._

 

He's quiet for a moment, looking right at her and there are just as many questions in his eyes as she can feel dancing in her own. _Goodnight,_ he says with a hoarse voice, almost like he had to force himself to say it.

 

There's a pull inside of her that makes her want to cross the distance between them and press her lips to his cheek like she imagined before. Steady her hands against his chest, feel the beating of his heart. But she doesn't.

 

_Goodnight, Daryl,_ she whispers instead, not quite trusting her voice before turning away from him and heading upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it doesn't feel like things are moving too fast. Halfway through this chapter I started thinking _woah, this isn't chapter 25, slow down_. Let me know if it feels rushed.


	8. an invitation

There's a crack in the ceiling which he never noticed before. In the faint silver-blue light that streams in through the poor excuse of a window, it's plain to see.

 

Long and jagged, right over his bed.

 

He should fix that as soon as possible if he doesn't want the ceiling to crumble down on him at night.

 

With a groan, he turns onto his side, staring blankly at the wall. There's no way he's getting any restful sleep tonight. Not a wink. Not with his heart still stuttering and his palms clammy even after the long shower he took.

 

He doesn't know what happened, why it happened, why on Earth Carol would _want_ it to happen. What would make her want to spend hours with him in the park. Talking so sweetly, somehow dragging him out of his shell - words tumbling from his mouth in an avalanche unlike anything he's known before.

 

She'd seemed so genuinely content and interest with no ulterior motive forcing her hand. For some reason, she _wanted_ so spend time with him - and now he, who rarely feels the urge to spend time with anyone, misses her. Here in his own bed, he longs for her company. For another story, for another smile, for another one of those teasing remarks that scare the shit right out of him because women do not talk to him like that.

 

Not unless they're drunk or high, and not ever women like Carol.

 

His mind is spinning, replaying the evening on a loop, all the details still so crystal clear. The curve of her pink lips when she smiled. The way she hummed when she tasted the ice cream for the first time, sending an electric jolt down his spine. The way she talked, the way she listened.

 

All his life, or at least as long as he can remember, he has shied away from physical contact. But something about Carol makes his blood sing with the need to be closer.

 

When he spotted the dot of chocolate ice cream at the corner of her mouth, his fingers had tingled with the need to brush it away. When she walked next to him on the gravel path, he could barely keep his hand from reaching out for her own. When they parted upstairs, he almost breached the distance and wrapped his arms around her, curious to feel the delicate curves of her body against all the rough edges of his own.

 

But he feels so much more than just the need to find out if her lips are as soft as they look, if her skin is as smooth, her short hair as silky.

 

His body is restless with the urge to find out more about her. Her favorite color, her favorite season. What kinds of books she prefers and how she likes her coffee. Random little details that shape her. He wants to learn them all and soak them up and it's terrifying because he never cares about these things with most people.

 

Most of the time, he couldn't give two shits about whether or not someone has sugar with their coffee or prefers fall to spring. It simply doesn't matter.

 

But somehow, it matters now.

 

Most of all, he wants to know her secret. Because there is one, simmering just underneath the surface of her ivory skin. She carries it like a veil, like a sadness that goes deeper than tears. It's undeniably there in the way she walks and talks and breathes, in the way she dodges questions. It's there in the wet shimmer in her eyes.

 

He sighs, turns onto his other side. Waiting for sleep to claim him and silence his thoughts. It's not really any of his business, he has no place to be thinking about this.

 

Whatever shit happened to her is her own mess. Ain't like he wants her poking around his own shitty past. He's never met anyone he trusted enough to open up about what he endured.

 

Not his own brother. Not Dale, who is more of a father to him than his own ever was. Not to Denise, who can see the signs and tries to steer him into the right direction. Nobody.

 

Why would Carol be any different?

 

* * *

 

When he wakes to the shrill beeping of his alarm, Daryl feels more tired than he did when he went to bed. His head pounds, his lower back aches and his neck feels stiff.

 

Muttering a curse under his breath, he drags himself out of bed, the floor cold under his bare feet. One advantage of living down here is that it's always blessedly cold in the hot Georgia summer.

 

His mind is still preoccupied when he makes himself a strong coffee and pours some cereal into a bowl. The cocoa puffs crunch between his teeth as he sits at his table, chin propped up against his fist, elbow resting on the table top.

 

He wonders if Carol is up already. What she's having for breakfast. If she's enjoying the mild warmth of the sun on her balcony. But he shakes off the thoughts a second later. _Turnin' into a creep,_ he mutters, dumping his empty bowl and cup into the sink and marching over towards the bathroom.

 

He doesn't bother shaving, just splashes some cold water into his face and brushes his teeth, sprays some deodorant and puts on his clothes. Five minutes later, he grabs his tool belt and his phone and heads out of the door, ready for another day just like any other.

 

* * *

 

His stomach growls something awful but he ignores it for now. It's past his usual lunchtime already, but these damn tiles in the courtyard don't remove themselves from the ground.

 

It was time for new ones about two decades ago, but Dale finally caught up with modern times about a week ago, and now Daryl is sitting on his knees on cracked concrete, the sun glaring down on the back of his neck and his head, most likely curdling his brain.

 

Just one more row, then he's gonna head inside and make himself a sandwich.

 

Only, his phone chooses that exact moment to buzz in his pocket and he huffs out an irritated breath, dropping the hammer he'd used to smash the old tiles.

 

Unlocking the screen, he's surprised to see a message from Tara. Shouldn't she be at work? He opens the message, half expecting it to be another weird picture - what were they called? Maim? Mome? Meme? He neither knows nor gives a fuck.

 

Only, it's _not_ a picture.

 

**Tara Chambler**

2:21pm

_Dinner tonight. Our place. 7 sharp. Bring wine. And the hot new girl from 12._

 

He nearly chokes on his own spit, re-reading the message three times before he decides it's real and not a trick played by his overcooked brain. How the hell does she know about Carol? And how does she know he would-

 

 _Damn it,_ he mutters, sliding the phone back into his pocket and going back to work.

 

Usually, he doesn't mind dinner with Tara and Denise. But he sure as hell won't ask Carol to come along. And if they somehow got any ideas about him and Carol, then he won't go on his own, either.

 

* * *

 

Tara doesn't like to be told no. And she likes it even less to be ignored. By the time he gulped down his meager sandwich, Daryl has five new messages from her.

 

**Tara Chambler**

2:34pm

_I'm not kidding, Daryl. We wanna meet her._

 

**Tara Chambler**

2:42pm

_You don't get to chicken out of this. Seven. Wine._

 

**Tara Chambler**

2:43pm

_Not the cheap one._

 

**Tara Chambler**

2:58pm

_I'm dragging you up the stairs if I have to. Don't think I can't see that you read the message._

 

**Tara Chambler**

3:12pm

_Told Denise. You know she's gonna handle this._

 

He grinds his teeth in frustration, wondering if maybe one of them saw him and Carol coming back from the park last night. But even if they did, there hadn't been anything to feed this sudden interest they seem to have sparked.

 

He decides to keep ignoring them. He's looking forward to the microwave lasagna for dinner anyway.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, he's heading out of the laundry room, a tool box in his hand, when his phone rings again. Properly this time. He sets down the heavy box, half-expecting it to be Tara but also expecting a call from Dale about when the wooden panels for the upstairs hallways will be delivered.

 

It's Denise's name that shows up on his screen, though.

 

He picks up with a gruff _hello_.

 

 _Hey,_ she greets in response, and he can hear the faint rush of traffic in the background. She must be on her way back home from the day clinic where she works.

 

He grabs the tool box again and heads into the boiler room next to the laundry room, the milky light flickering ominously. He will have to change the bulb later. _Ain't bringin' anyone to dinner. Ain't comin', either._ He knows he sounds like a disgruntled, stubborn child, but he doesn't appreciate people meddling with his business. Especially when there isn't even any business to meddle with.

 

Denise sighs, but there's an aura of understanding about her that probably comes with the job. _I told Tara you wouldn't go for it._

 

Leaning his lower back against the counter of the work bench, Daryl stares at the copper pipes that line the wall in front of him. _Why'd'ya even think I'd wanna bring 'er to dinner?_ He probably should have just dropped the subject, but curiosity got the best of him in the end and he's admittedly worried about how they found out that- well,he doesn't even know what they got a whiff of.

 

Denise is quiet for a moment, most likely carefully weighing her next words before eventually just blurting it all out. She has a tendency to do that. _Well, Aaron might have mentioned you were being extra helpful the other ay and then Maggie might have seen you two coming home together last night and she told Glenn and you know him, so he told Jesus and he told Tara and-_

 

 _Fuckin' hell,_ Daryl grumbles, effectively ending Denise's stream of hurried words. He didn't notice Maggie anywhere last night. It's not any of her damn business, either and Glenn can't keep a dam secret if he was being paid for it. _Weren't what it looked like,_ he mutters, hoping to do some damage control before Carol has to deal with any unwanted rumors about her hooking up with the damn janitor or something. He's pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate that.

 

 _What_ did _it look like?_ Denise asks, and he can damn well hear the smirk in her voice. He sucks at this, never had to deal with nobody thinking someone was involved with him. Would've made people laugh back in the day. As if anyone wanted to be seen with Daryl Dixon of all people.

 

 _Nothin'._ He feels a little defeated.

 

Apparently, he said the wrong thing again. _So it_ wasn't _nothing?_ Denise isn't even hiding her interest any more, most likely just as enthusiastic about this potential new development as Tara is. He has half the mind to hang up when she speaks again, taking him a little by surprise. _Listen,_ she says with a more serious tone. _Whatever it may or may not be, maybe don't push her away just yet?_

 

Now he's completely lost. _Never said-_

 

 _I know,_ she interrupts him - no doubt before he can dig himself further into this hole. He's always been shit with words. _Just as an advice. I'd love to meet her, Tara and I both would. So, the invitation still stands. Seven._ His irritated sigh doesn't go unnoticed. _Just think about it. There'll be more than enough food._

 

 _I got my own food,_ he mutters, holding the phone away from his ear to check the time. Shit, he needs to call someone to pick up the mountain of smashed tiles before they close.

 

 _I know._ He can ear Denise talking faintly, quickly holding the phone back to his ear. _Just think about it?_

 

He really wants to tell her to mind her own business and that there's nothing to think about. But she's his friend and he doesn't want her to take the brunt of his frustration, so he brushes her off instead. _Gotta go. See ya._

 

He's already hovering his thumb over the red button, only faintly hearing Denise’s voice. _Bye, Daryl._

 

Shaking his head, Daryl is about to shove the phone back into his pocket when it buzzes again. He doesn't recognize the number, opens the message with little expectations.

 

Maybe Dale broke his phone again and got a new one. Maybe someone typed in the wrong number. Maybe-

 

**Unknown number**

5:32pm

_Hi. I hope this isn't a bad time but I have a little problem here and I don't want to call a plumber over it. The faucet in the kitchen has been leaking for two days and I can't get it to stop. Would you mind taking a look at it when you have the time? I hope you're having a nice day. Carol :)_

 

His heart skips a beat, but then he chastises himself. She needs help. That's all.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

5:33pm

_You home?_

 

Leaks like that happen here all the time in this house, at least twice a week. The pipes are old and worn, high on the list of things that need to be replaced. He's glad she didn't call a plumber for it - the guys are decent enough but they would've charged her a pretty sum for it and then some because she's knew.

 

**Carol Peletier**

5:34pm

_Just got here._

 

Something about knowing she's in the same building again makes him feel light, almost restless. He's already heading back towards the hallway, almost forgetting his tool box in his rush.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

5:34pm

_I'll be up in five._

 

Shit, that probably sounded too forward. She probably wants to settle in and unwind after work and not be bothered by him tampering around with the pipes.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

5:34pm

_That ok?_

 

It takes her an excruciating minute to reply, a minute he spends linger by the foot of the basement stairs. Waiting.

 

**Carol Peletier**

5:36pm

That's great ;)

 

The little wink at the end sends blood rushing to his cheeks and he's bolting up the stairs like a kid on Christmas Day not a second later.

 


	9. dinner plans

_Drip drip drip_

 

Carol watches the water leaking out of the faucet, drop by drop hitting the sink in the same erratic pace as her heart. She's being silly, getting all excited about nothing at all.

 

But her hands are clammy where she has them pressed against the counter behind her, and there's a flutter in her stomach that's impossible to deny.

 

_I'll be up in five._

 

She glances over at her phone, rereading the message for the fifth time since she got it. He should be here any moment now. A part of her feels guilty for dragging him up here over a leaking faucet - he probably had plenty of other, more important things to do.

 

But another part of her was secretly grateful for the opportunity the steady _drip drip drip_ provided. It's an innocent reason to see him again.

 

She'd tossed and turned all night, restless despite her fatigue, and at work, she'd barely been able to concentrate. Her mind was too preoccupied, replaying the events from last night. How shy Daryl had been and how quickly his walls had crumbled, granting her a peek inside. Lori had eyed her curiously all day, a question lingering in the air between them which she blessedly never asked.

 

A knock on the door pulls Carol back into the here and now, and she sucks down a calming breath, smooths her hands down her blouse before heading into the hallway.

 

Daryl looks a little flushed and out of breath when she pulls open the door. He's carrying a heavy-looking tool box, and the exposed skin of his arms glistens with sweat.

 

_Hey,_ she greets, tearing her eyes away from lean muscle to meet his gaze instead. His smile is shy and barely there, but it makes her heart skip a beat.

 

_Hey,_ he responds. _Where's the leak?_

 

Her mind short-circuits then, transported to different spheres at the sight of him. _Where do you think?_ she asks in a low voice, curling her lips into a devious half-smile and in the second before Daryl snorts she can see his eyes darken a little.

 

_Stop,_ he drawls and her laughter comes easily.

 

Stepping aside, she makes room for him. _In the kitchen,_ she explains, shutting the door and following Daryl inside. Her eyes are glued to his broad shoulders until they reach the sink - she keeps a safe distance then, leaning back against the counter.

 

_It didn't do that until yesterday, I don't know what I did wrong,_ she explains, eyeing the dripping faucet in question. She feels a little embarrassed, if she's being honest with herself. This is something she might be able to fix herself if she googled it.

 

But Google isn't nearly as promising as spending a few more minutes in Daryl's company. He pulls open the cabinet under the sink and kneels down, dismissively waving his hand.

 

_Didn't do nothin' wrong,_ he reassures her, opening his toolbox and pulling out a flashlight. _Happens all the time. Them pipes are old as hell. Gotta replace 'em soon before ya flood the place._

 

Her eyes widen a little and a tiny gasp escapes her at the mere idea.

 

_Oh God, could that really happen?_ she asks, momentarily too terrified of the idea of a flood to pay much attention to how Daryl is leaning into the cabinet.

 

_One day it might,_ he says with a shrug, and then his voice is muffled as he leans in further and begins to fumble with the pipes. _Gonna take care of 'em 'fore that._

 

She sighs a little in relief, and they fall silent as Daryl gets to work. The sound of tools working metal and plastic fills the room along with the steady drip of water and the faint rush of cars through the open balcony door.

 

Carol watches him intently. What little she can still see of him, anyway. Mostly his back and his legs, narrow waist and heavy boots.

 

_Gimme that wrench?_ he asks a few seconds later, pointing vaguely at the toolbox and Carol needs a second for her brain to process his words.

 

_The big one?_ she asks, kneeling down and eying the two wrenches she can see.

 

_Yeah._

 

It's heavier than she thought and she makes a huffing sound when she lifts it. Handing it to Daryl, she realizes how close they suddenly are. Kneeling next to each other on the stone tiles. He doesn't notice yet, though, his head still hidden in the cabinet.

 

_Thanks._

 

She smiles even though he can't see, feeling ridiculous for feeling a little useful.

 

_Is it bad?_ she asks, deciding to stay down in the floor in case he needs her help again. Maybe she could offer to hold the flashlight. Maybe-

 

_Nah, ain't too bad._ He grunts a little, the muscles in his arms rippling from whatever he's doing and the sound and sight of that makes Carol's abdomen clench in the most irritating way.

 

_Good,_ she croaks, hating the way her voice comes out. Thankfully, Daryl probably can't hear the hoarseness from where he is.

 

After that, he works in silence for a little while. She figures that that's how he prefers it and she doesn't want to bother him. But she doesn't trust herself to just stare and so she gives in to her need to talk after a while. _I hope you weren't too busy,_ she says softly, feeling the old familiar sting of guilt and shame for asking him for help. _You didn't have to come straight away._

 

_'s all right,_ he mutters, tossing something out of the cabinet that rolls across her tiles - likely to be forgotten until she trips over it some day. _Better fix this right away. Almost done._

 

His words make er heart clench. He hasn't been here for very long and the thought of parting again so soon is making her feel weary. _Great,_ she says half-heartedly, her mind spinning as she tries to come up with something, anything, to say. _Did you- did you have a good day, then?_ she asks in the end, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment over her own lame question.

 

She's glad Daryl can't see her face right now. _Hmm,_ he hums. _Guess so._ He is quiet again for a moment and Carol feels disappointed, assuming the conversation is over already. _How 'bout ya?_ he asks then, taking her by surprise. _Back to work, right?_

 

A soft smile tickles her lips. _Yeah. It was a slow day. Not a lot of customers._ It had been a blessing considering how distracted she'd been. Dealing with a crowd of people probably would have ended in chaos.

 

_That good or bad?_ Daryl asks, placing the wrench down on the floor. She takes it, places it back into his toolbox carefully.

 

_Well, for my first day back it was a nice change of pace, she admits._ Obviously, more customers are better for business, but she'll allow herself to indulge in a lazy day every now and then.

 

Daryl huffs in response, beginning to pushing himself out of he cabinet. _There,_ he says, smoothing his hair from his face. _All done._

 

One second, Carol is surprised to find the faucet without any leaking drops of water, saying _thank you_ with a wide smile, the next she watches in shock as Daryl moves back fully, his head colliding with the counter top. _Careful!_ she gasps but it's too late.

 

A dull thud makes her cringe and his hissed _fuck_ only proves with how much force he hit his head. She panics, already imagining the worst. Blood, a concussion. She scrambles towards him, breaching the small distance and reaching out to cradle his head.

 

_Oh God, are you okay?_ she gasps, feeling the softness of his hair under her palm. He flinches when she touches him, and for a moment she thinks it's because she touched the spot where he bumped his head but she didn't.

 

_Yeah, 's fine,_ he mutters, staring down at the floor with clenched fists and she quickly retreats her hand. Forehead in creases, she watches the tension slowly easing from his body.

 

_You'll get a bump,_ she says then, trying to sound light-hearted and it seems to work because he snorts a little and finally looks up at her.

 

_Had worse_ , he shrugs, then swallows deftly because he must have noticed too just how close they are. Kneeling in front of each other with less than a foot of space between them. His cheeks flame red, and Carol feels a lump forming in her throat. _So, ehm...,_ he mutters, fingers fidgeting against his thighs. _Do ya- I mean, what'ya- shit._ Carol has to bite back a smile. He is a fumbling, shy mess and she wishes he knew what he wanted to ask so she could take that burden from him. _Ya got any plans tonight?_

 

Her eyes widen a little. She did not expect that, and instantly her mind begins to spin, trying to imagine why he would ask. _No. Why?_ Her mouth feels dry, but her hands are clammy again.

 

Daryl takes a deep breath, busying himself with shutting the cabinet and purposely avoiding her gaze. _Well, Denise and Tara, they live down on the 3_ _rd_ _floor. They asked me over for dinner and, well..._ He's rising back onto his feet now, rubbing the back of his head where he bumped into the counter. _They invited ya, too. Want ta meet ya._

 

Standing up, Carol feels her legs prickling as her blood flows through her veins more freely. _Meet me?_ she asks with furrowed brows, a little confused at the invitation from two people she never met before.

 

He seems to panic a little for reasons she doesn't understand, shoulders shrugging. _New neighbor and all, I guess._

 

She's still a little confused what brought this on, but she can see how much it cost Daryl to extend the invitation at all. He's still flustered, gathering his tools and making a point of pretending she's not there. She does wonder why they asked Daryl to invite her instead of asking her themselves, but she chooses not to overthink this now.

 

_Oh, that's so sweet of them,_ she replies, trying hard to make him feel more at ease. _Are they friends of yours?_

 

He shrugs. _Yeah. Y'ain't gotta go if ya don't wanna, though. If ya-_

 

_I want to_ , she interrupts him, taking an instinctual step towards him. With his back to the counter and her body just a foot away, she can see him tensing again, almost like a trapped animal. _If you're coming, too?_ she asks hopefully. She does want to make new friends, but going on her own doesn't sound very tempting. She'd rather curl up on the couch with some leftovers and Netflix.

 

He finally looks at her, blue eyes weary. She has the feeling that he didn't give this much thought beforehand. Maybe even considered not asking her at all. _Sure._ His reply is short but it makes her heart sing and her lips curl into a grin.

 

_Good._ She takes a step back then, granting him some room to breathe and the effect is instant. His shoulders ease and he releases a barely audible sigh. She wonders why he's so caged, so frightful. It doesn't suit him at first glance and she didn't notice until now.

 

_Seven,_ he blurts then, quickly correcting himself. _Tara said seven._ He sounds so afraid that she'll turn him down even though she agreed already. It only adds to the mystery of him.

 

_Should I bring anything?_ Carol asks, running her fingers along the edge of the counter behind her to give herself something to do. Something to occupy herself with because there's a strand of his hair that's sticking up at an odd angle and the urge to smooth it down is almost unbearable - especially now that she knows how soft it would feel.

 

He thinks for a moment, his hand ghosting over his pocket where she can see the outline of his phone. _Ya got any wine?_ he asks sheepishly and she grins in response.

 

_Of course._

 

She's glad to see him ease up a little, the corner of his mouth lifting into that cautious smile of his. _Bring that._

 

_Okay,_ she agrees, silently congratulating herself for buying more wine the other day. There's nothing left to say between them now, though. The faucet is fixed, their unexpected dinner plans settled. Now, they're just two people standing in her kitchen, awkwardly trying to figure out where to go from here.

 

_I'll... I'll see you at seven?_ Carol asks, feeling like a teenager who just made plans for her first date. It's a ridiculous comparison, though. This isn't a date. He's not going to pick her up with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

 

He probably wouldn't bring flowers anyway. Or _would_ he?

 

She shakes her head a miniscule bit to silence her own wandering thoughts. Daryl doesn't miss the small move, tilting his head slightly in curiosity before looking down at his boots.

 

_Yeah._


	10. neighbors

He doesn't know what to wear, which is a predicament he never finds himself in. The last time he worried about this was the one time Merle talked him into coming to his court hearing and he'd ended up wearing the one old, worn suit he owns.

 

He hasn't worn it again since. And it's too much for dinner with Tara and Denise anyway. Most likely, he'll end up wearing it for a funeral next.

 

After taking the quickest shower of his life, Daryl finds himself standing in front of the dresser, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist, staring at the meager choice of shirts. He's already found a clean pair of jeans. They're relatively new, too. Sporting neither tears nor stains.

 

His damn shirts all look the same, though. Most of them sleeveless. Plaid, flannel, stained or washed out cotton. Browns and greens. They all look ratty even to him - which usually doesn't bother him.

 

It shouldn't bother him now, either. Tara and Denise wouldn't give a shit if he showed up in his pajamas and Carol has seen him in his usual clothes, so she surely doesn't expect him to dress up.

 

But he doesn't want to look like shit, is confused by the sudden urge to want to show her he can be different. Only his wardrobe isn't all that cooperative.

 

Inviting her had felt a little like digging his own grave because while he tried to sell it to her as a friendly neighborhood get-together, he knows that's not what Tara and Denise meant for it to be. But he'd been desperate for an excuse to spend a little more time with her and it seemed like the only option.

 

Other than actually asking her out, and he doesn't have the balls for that. Hell, he doesn't even know if that's something he really wants. All he knows is that he likes to be around her more than most people - he'd worked on the pipes in her kitchen as slowly as he could to prolong the inevitable parting. Because there's no reason for them to be around each other without a goddamn reason and the dinner had been his excuse.

 

Muttering a curse, he drops the towel and pulls on his underwear, rummaging through his drawer for a pair of socks.

 

He's being ridiculous. Even if he bought a new suit the sight of him in it would hardly be impressive. It doesn't matter what the fuck he wears. Never mattered before.

 

* * *

 

She looks so damn pretty. Not in an over-the-top way. She barely looks different from when he left her place earlier. But somehow her lips are a little rosier and her hair a little more shiny and she changed into tight black pants that nearly caused his eyes to pop out of his skull when he first saw them. Long, lean legs that his hands itch to trace.

 

The purple blouse she wears is simple enough, innocent really except for the top three button she left open, and now every time he looks at her from his periphery he can see the swell of her freckle-dusted breasts and the hollows of her collarbones.

 

He always tears his eyes away, stares a hole into his half-finished plate. By now, he could draw a still-life of his lamb and rosemary potatoes. Could draw the outlines and shades of every vegetable on white porcelain.

 

Only, he could draw the exact shade of Carol's porcelain skin, as well. All the freckles that are scattered over the bridge of her nose and down over her collarbones. The curve of her lips when she smiles. The sparkle in her hair when the light hits her just right.

 

Damn it. He needs to pull himself together. Needs to get laid or something, anything to take his mind off her. Maybe he'll head to a bar over the weekend. Get piss drunk, find someone who's willing.

 

The thought alone makes his stomach churn.

 

 _I'm originally from Ohio,_ he hears Denise saying after Carol finishes telling them about growing up in Atlanta. Halfheartedly, Daryl picks at what remains of his food with his fork, not feeling much of an appetite anymore. His mind is a roller coaster, and he can barely stomach a few potatoes. _Not a local, either._

 

He can see Tara moving across the table from him, tossing her handkerchief onto the glass table and raising her hands. _Born and raised,_ she declares proudly, taking a sip of her wine. Daryl's own glass is mostly untouched. He never cared much for wine - too sweet. Too entwined with memories of his mother. But he's not about to be a dick and demand something else to drink.

 

 _What made you move here?_ Tara asks then, curiosity evident in her voice. So far, both her and Denise have managed to keep this dinner civil, almost making him believe Carol buys his excuse of a friendly welcome-to-the-neighborhood get-together. But every time his eyes cross Tara’s, he can see a glint in them that tells him she's having a hard time containing herself. _I mean, it must be really lame compared to the city._

 

Daryl feels his grip around his fork tightening, remembering when this topic came up between them in the park and how Carol had closed up. Tension had been clear in the way she moved and bad memories clung to how she avoided the subject. Cautiously, he looks over at her, watching her shrug. _I actually like the quiet,_ she says, clearly avoiding Tara's first question.

 

Either Tara doesn't notice or she has the decency not to press the issue any further, moving on without repeating her questions. _Well, I guess you can always go back for a trip if you want the noise. And the people._ Daryl still watches Carol, the way her eyes are cast down to her empty plate. She worries the rim of her second glass of wine, a lipstick stain on the glass drawing him in.

 

 _That's true,_ she says softly, and then the melancholy that was radiating off her fades away and she shifts back into a different role. S _o, how did the three of you become friends?_ she asks with a broad, kind smile, looking at their two hosts and then straight at him, making him swallow the lump in his throat. Even then, he doesn't have the guts to answer the question.

 

Talking to her had been so easy before, but with Tara and Denise around, he feels like he's standing on a stage for an audition or an interrogation and his every word and move are weighed on a scale. Maybe Carol notices how stiff and silent he is, her brows furrowing for a moment before Denise replies and draws her attention away from him.

 

 _Guess we just clicked,_ she offers with a smile in his direction that tells him enough. Denise could always read him a little too well, from that first day when they moved in until now. _We didn't have an easy time moving in,_ she continues, rolling her eyes. _Gregory next door clearly didn't approve of us. And the old witch who lived in your place... Jesus, where do I begin?_ Tara scoffs at that, nodding in agreement. _Felt like she was trying to curse us with her evil eyes every time we met her in the hallway. Daryl helped us a lot back then._

 

He blushes on the spot. What he'd done then hadn't been much, nothing any other decent person wouldn't have done, but they held him in such high regard ever since that it makes him a little uncomfortable whenever the topic comes up.

 

 _Oh God, was she really that bad?_ Carol asks, eyes wide, taking another sip of wine. _I thought Daryl was exaggerating._

 

Tara purses her lips, shakes her head. _Nope. Whatever he says she was, she was probably worse._ He can see Carol picturing the old woman now, her eyes wide and he wants to smile because damn she looks so mesmerizing. He bites that back, though, can still feel unwanted eyes on him.

 

 _She was a little... conservative,_ Denise explains cautiously, putting down her knife and fork after finishing the last bit of lamb. This makes Daryl the last one with food left on his plate and he knows he won't be able to finish it.

 

 _Between us and Eric and Aaron, I think she felt threatened by the amount of gay in this place,_ Tara continues to explain, snorting a little. _And then Jesus moved in a few months ago and she saw him bring home some guy one night._ Denise stifles a grin, and Carol's forehead creases in the most adorable way. _I heard her screeching all the way up here._

 

 _Oh God, that's horrible,_ she gasps, pressing her fingers to her mouth. Daryl remembers that night all too well. The commotion and the yelling that had alerted him to the upstairs hallway. Jesus had remained remarkably calm, but the witch had nearly burst into flames right there on the spot, going as far as pointing the sharp end of her cane at the two men. It had taken Daryl and a few other tenants quite a bit of negotiating before she had hurried off to the elevator, hissing a colorful array of degrading words as she retreated.

 

 _That's why she hated Daryl so much,_ Tara adds, and he looks up at her in confusion - not missing the grin that reaches as far as her eyes. _She thought he was gay, too._

 

His eyes narrow, and he wonders what Tara is playing at. But then Carol turns to him, a drop of red wine dotting her bottom lip that she catches with the tip of her tongue. _You never said she hated you,_ she says with a light grin.

 

 _Bet he never said he's not gay, either,_ Tara quips, and where his eyes were narrow before they grow white as saucers now. _Cause he isn't._ He wants to wipe that shit-eating grin right off her face and he's pretty sure his glare rivals that of the old witch right now.

 

This is exactly what he was worried about.

 

 _I didn't-_ Carol starts, and he can see her squirming in her seat for a moment before she decides to drop the subject. _So, you must be really glad she's gone,_ she says instead, but Daryl doesn't miss the way she glances at him for a brief second, her cheeks a little redder than they were before.

 

 _Everyone is,_ Tara agrees, looking mighty proud of herself. _Except Gregory, they got along pretty well._ Daryl's eyes narrow again when her foot bumps against his ankle under the table - completely on purpose.

 

They are all silent for a moment before Denise saves them from dicing head first into awkwardness. _Carol, would you mind helping me with dessert?_ she asks, pushing her chair back as she starts reaching for their plates. _Tara can't be trusted around it._

 

Tara looks at Denise with mock horror. _Hey, that's a lie!_ The two woman share a laugh, Denise’s hand coming up to rest on Tara’s shoulder for a brief moment. Daryl tenses a little, even the slightest amount of public display of affection from anyone making him uncomfortable. It reminds him of a hollowness he feels inside, always has. Since he was a little boy.

 

Looking away from them, his eyes meet Carol's, and he's convinced she was looking at him before. Her lips curl into a smile, but there's a hint of that same sadness there he witnessed in the park last night. Eventually, she looks away again, turning towards Denise. _Of course I don't mind._

 

The two of them stack the plates, ready to clear the table, and when Carol leans over to take his plate, her arm just barely brushes his. The small touch sends an electric spark through his system. He avoids looking at her, stares at his tightly curled hands instead and then she's gone, heading into the kitchen with Denise.

 

As soon as he's sure they can't hear him anymore, he hisses at Tara. _Why'd'ya have ta say I ain't gay? What's it matter?_ She leans back into her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest.

 

 _Calm down, Daryl. Was just making that clear,_ she says in a calm voice, but there's a familiar fire and enthusiasm to her words. _You don't want her thinking that._

 

He crosses his own arms in front of his chest, silently cursing the tight shirt he decided on wearing for making the move uncomfortable. _Don't make no difference,_ he mutters, nudging the toe of his boot against the table leg.

 

 _She's pretty,_ Tara states, tilting her head a little to the side. _And nice. And funny._

 

He huffs. Ain't like Tara is wrong, but he'd rather not have this discussion right now. Or ever. _Don't think she's gay, either._

 

Tara laughs at that, but it's not enough to make him forgive her for saying what she did. _Not for me. I meant for_ you _and don't pretend you didn't know that._

 

He ain't stupid, and denying his understanding of her actions would really be a waste of time. _Will ya stop meddling?_ he asks instead, keeping his voice down. _Ain't nothin' going on._

 

Tara nods. _Yet,_ she adds, taking a slow sip of wine that's more than a little infuriating.

 

He's quickly becoming frustrated, regretting his decision to come here. _Won't ever. She ain't interested._

 

His somber words wipe the smug grin off Tara’s face and she sets down her glass, leans forward until her forearms rest on the table. _You know that how?_

 

He shrugs, wishing he could just leave. _Just do. I ain't- she's too- screw this,_ he curses, his thoughts a confusing, overwhelming mess. _Just ain't gonna happen. 'sides, she just moved in here. Don't go making her uncomfortable._ It's a plead he makes on Carol's behalf. There's already more than enough gossip, and he hopes she hasn't realized that yet. Hopes he can avoid her ever finding out and be embarrassed by it.

 

Tara shakes her head at him, looking everything but convinced. _So, let's agree we don't know if she's interested. Are_ you _interested?_ she asks, sounding dead serious.

 

Maybe Tara doesn't realize it, but that's one hell of a question she just asked him. _Is_ he interested? Yes. His body and soul are on fire with interest, but for what? He doesn't know anything but a quick lay in some shoddy bathroom or the back of his truck. He doesn't do intimacy, he doesn't talk about stuff.

 

With Carol, though, he can't imagine them together the way he usually is with women. Quick and hard and full of regret. _Ain't talkin' about this no more,_ he says stubbornly, already too confused just thinking about this. Even if he wanted to talk to Tara about this - which he does not - he wouldn't know where to begin.

 

 _Daryl, come on,_ Tara moans, starting to sound almost as annoyed as he feels. L _et's be really shallow here for a moment. Do you find her attractive?_ Her question is plain and forward and the honest answer is yes, without the shadow of a doubt. Still, he can't bring himself to say it. His body takes over instead, cheeks flaming and eyes straying away from Tara, looking at the door to the hallway instead. _I'll take that as a yes,_ Tara says with a knowing grin, her brows raising. _And I know you think she's nice. And I know you care at least a little._

 

 _And how'd'ya know that?_ he says through gritted teeth. Tara and Denise are his friends and he knows they think they are doing him some sort of favor right now, but he'd rather handle things himself - even though a small, nagging voice tells him that maybe he should listen to her instead of refusing to accept her advice.

 

 _Because you keep staring at her,_ Tara says plainly, but before he can lie in his own defense, she continues. _And you smiled at her three times and that's more than you've smiled in the last month except that one time the soda can exploded all over Denise._ That had, admittedly, been all kinds of hilarious, but he still frowns. _And you're wearing a nice shirt. I didn't even know you owned one._

 

Self-consciously, he looks down at himself, the plain white shirt tight and clean. He only wore it once before to that damn court hearing. Maybe it was too much, after all. Only, when Carol opened her door earlier when he came to pick her up, she had looked him up and own for a moment, eyes lingering on his chest before she'd blushed and looked away.

 

 _Look, I'm not saying you should marry her or do other enjoyable adult activities,_ Tara says, sounding way too serious considering what she just suggested. _Just, maybe consider that she's a candidate for that?_ she asks, and her words reminding her of what Denise said earlier about not pushing Carol away.

 

He doesn't understand what it is they see in him and Carol that makes them push him so much. She moved in just a few days ago, Tara and Denise only met her today and yet somehow the mere fact that they were in the park together yesterday seems to prove something to them. _Barely know her,_ he mutters, hoping to end this dammed conversation. He can hear the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

 

 _That's what I'm saying,_ Tara quips, making all of this sound all too easy. It might be easy for her, but it sure as hell ain't even close to easy for him. _Get to know her. And don't run for the hills._ She falls silent then when they hear Carol and Denise returning from the kitchen, carrying four bowls of what he thinks is chocolate mouse.

 

Carol's eyes meet his the second she steps back into the room, and there's a shyness to the way she smiles at him that makes his stomach flutter.

 

Tara claps her hands together a second later, and both he and Carol startle a little at the loud sound. _Who is ready for that second bottle of wine?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really anxious about this chapter because I rarely ever write other characters. But I hope you guys liked this :)


	11. in vino veritas

Her arm still tingles where it brushed Daryl's – she'd felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, had felt him tense up, a shiver running down her own spine. She tries to push her body's reaction away, her fingers holding on a little too tightly to the stack of plates she's carrying.

 

As she follows Denise out of the living room, she tries to distract herself by taking in her surroundings. Their apartment is much bigger than her own, and the blending of two different characters is intriguing to see. The walls are painted in stark white, grays and dark blues, all the furniture is modern and clean. Lots of glass, metal and white, polished wood. It's a stark contrast to the layout and details of the old apartment. The high walls, the worn hardwood floors, the tall, thin windows and paint chipping off the wooden frames.

 

She supposed this fits Denise better. The clarity of it all. But Tara's influence is plain to see, as well, incorporated effortlessly into the sleekness. The artwork on the wall is funky and colorful, the throw pillows on the angular couch come in all sorts of shapes, fabrics and colors. Little odds and ends fit perfectly onto shelves – a wobbly headed doctor figure catching Carol's eye in the hallway.

 

The kitchen looks brand new. White, shiny cabinets, polished black counter tops and stainless steel appliances. But there's a table in the corner that looks like it came from a yard sale and was then painted bright red, three mis-matched chairs framing it. One made from shiny copper, the other lime green and made of plastic, and the last a plain wooden one but painted in a light shade of blue.

 

What really catches Carol's eyes, though, is the wall above the table. Made out of what she assumes were once soda cans, there's a framed mosaic in the center of the wall. All sorts of colors and brands are cut up and form a heart. Carol is mesmerized by the sight. She wonders what the story behind that is, and she's pretty convinced this is homemade and not store-bought.

 

_I hope you like chocolate mousse,_ Denise says as she sets her half of the dishes down in the sink.

 

Carol already feels her mouth watering, setting down her plates and leaning against the counter. _God, everything chocolate and I melt,_ she admits with a smile, and Denise looks pleased to hear that, pulling a large glass bowl full of rich chocolate mousse from the fridge. It looks absolutely delicious, and the thought of having to share it with three other people almost makes Carol pout.

 

_Good,_ Denise says, pulling four smaller glass bowls from a cabinet and handing them to Carol. _So, how do you like it here?_ she asks casually, pulling a handful of spoons from a drawer. The larger one, she hands to Carol.

 

_It's lovely,_ Carol replies, beginning to scoop heaps of mousse into the bowls as Denise pulls a cutting board out and reaches for a basket of strawberries. _A nice change. I needed that,_ she sighs, watching the tiny bubbles of air in the mousse, creamy and thick and smelling like pure heaven.

 

Denise nods, cutting the strawberries into slices. _There's something I wanted to talk to you about,_ she says after a minute of working in silence, and Carol feels her stomach clench nervously. She'd been expecting something like this when Denise asked her into the kitchen.

 

_I figured,_ she remarks, staring down at the half-empty bowl of chocolate mousse before turning to face Denise and offering her a tight-lipped smile. _I feel like I'm at an audition._ She forces herself to chuckle to mask how nervous she actually is. All night, she felt like every question was an assessment. It wasn't uncomfortable, and she does enjoy their company, but she couldn't help but feel weighed and measured for sale. And considering how terribly uncomfortable Daryl has looked all night, she can only assume he feels the same.

 

Denise looks a little embarrassed, reaching for the first small bowl to toss some strawberries onto the mousse. _Sorry, I was hoping it wouldn't be that obvious._

 

Carol dismissively waves her hand, not wanting her host to feel guilty. When she speaks again, her voice sounds somber, though. _There's nothing going on between me and Daryl, if that's what you think,_ she clarifies, fingers curling around the smooth edge of the counter top.

 

Denise laughs softly, lips pursed. _Oh, trust me. I know that._ Carol feels her brows crease in confusion at Denise’s confidence on this topic, and it doesn't go unnoticed when Denise quickly backtracks. _Not because- Daryl, he's-_ She sighs, abandoning the strawberries. _He can be complicated._

 

If Carol was confused before, she's intrigued now. _How so?_

 

Denise's face goes very serious then, and she busies herself with the strawberries for a short while, placing them neatly on the dessert. She almost looks like she regrets bringing this up at all, and Carol can't help but feel uneasy, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. _He hasn't always had it easy,_ Denise eventually explains, keeping her voice down even though they'd have to really speak up to be heard in the living room. _He doesn't talk about that, but it's there._ Carol feels a heavy weight settling in the pit of her stomach, a familiar weight that she carried with her for so long.

 

Denise doesn't seem to want to talk about this, and after all, it's not her story to tell. She looks at Carol with a caring expression, on that is well-practiced, she assumes. _So, if he ever seems a little gruff or.... uninterested, that doesn't mean he actually is._

 

Thinking back on the short amount of time Carol has known him, some things suddenly seem to fit into a larger puzzle. _He seems scared sometimes,_ she wonders out loud, remembering how skittish he'd been earlier when she'd touched him. How easily he blushes when she makes a teasing remark – or sometimes for no apparent reason at all.

 

Denise nods, putting the last strawberry slice in its place. _I think he is._

 

Without knowing what Daryl went through in the past, Carol struggles a little to understand why exactly he would be afraid. She hasn't pushed for anything at all. _Why?_ she asks, genuinely curious. The last thing she wants is to accidentally take a wrong step and scare him away completely – a fear that seems to be valid. _I meant it, there's nothing going on between us._

 

The words seem foolish to her the moment they pass her lips, because while yes, there's nothing going on between them, she is also afraid. Guided by too many bad memories. Haunted by phantom pains.

 

Denise ruffles through a cabinet for a moment, pulling out a packet of white chocolate chips. _I think he might be afraid because he_ is _interested._ Carol's heart skips a beat at the idea, and she's pretty sure her cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink. If Denise notices, she doesn't comment on it. _He doesn't have a lot of self-esteem. Or confidence,_ she explains, scattering a few white chocolate chips over the mousse. _Are_ you _interested?_

 

The question catches her off guard, and Carol goes to great lengths to avoid eye contact with Denise. _I- It's not-_ she stutters, feeling more than a little embarrassed. She's a grown woman. She's been _married_ before. It shouldn't make her so flustered to admit she's physically attracted to someone. She's not blind. And _God_ , that shirt he chose to wear.

 

But it's more than that, and she's slowly starting to realize that. It's a fascination and a curiosity that he sparks in her, a warmth that she has craved for so long.

 

_Sorry, I know it's not really any of my business,_ Denise interrupts her, putting away the chocolate chips.

 

_It's okay,_ Carol reassures her, smiling through her own unease. _You care about him._ It's sweet of her and Tara to go to these lengths, really. She's glad he has friends like them. Maybe they deserve an honest answer. _I guess I am,_ she admits, and Denise looks at her with widened eyes. _Interested,_ she clarifies, pausing for a moment because things aren't this simple. Just because she's interested in.... something, doesn’t mean she's ready for anything.

 

_But... I was married before,_ she says quietly, a shudder running through her body. She's not sure why she trusts Denise enough to confess this to her, but she does. _He doesn't know that. It was-_ Her fingers curl deftly around her own wrist, heart pounding. There are too many chapters of the story of her marriage that she's not ready to share and maybe never will. _It didn't end well and I haven't- since then..._ She huffs a little in frustration, lips curling into a shy smile at Denise’s encouraging and empathetic impression. _Do you really think he's interested?_ she asks softly, not quite believing it.

 

Denise nods. _Pretty sure._ She seems to ponder something for a moment, maybe wondering if asking what's on her mind is inappropriate. _Maybe give him a chance?_ she asks carefully, looking genuinely hopeful. _I think you'd be good for him._ Carol can't quite believe what she's saying, all her previous fears of being assessed suddenly fading. But Denise doesn't linger on the conversation, grabbing two bowls of chocolate mousse instead. _Dessert?_

 

Carol needs a moment to process all of this before her mind focuses on the sweet treat in front of her, numbing everything else. _Yes._

 

* * *

 

She really shouldn't have had that last glass of wine. Or the last two, really. But it had been really, _really_ good wine and she hasn't had the chance to enjoy a glass of wine in good company in so long – maybe she overindulged a little.

 

Walking up the stairs to her floor, she doesn't feel drunk. But her steps do feel a little lighter and her face feels a little flushed. Maybe that's the reason Daryl offered to walk her to her apartment. He'd picked her up only because he forgot to mention where Denise and Tara live. There's no logical reason for him to bring her home, too, except that she might look a little unsteady on her feet. Which she isn't. Her head feels clear.

 

The hallway is dimly lit as they approach her door, walking silently side by side.

 

_That was fun,_ she says quietly, smiling at Daryl who just nods in response. _They're really great._ She likes Tara and Denise a lot, had enjoyed their company. Especially after her talk with Denise when she hadn't felt as evaluated anymore. After dessert, the mood lightened a little, the conversation became easier and even Daryl joined in occasionally, taking the odd sip of wine every now and then. Mostly, though, he remained quiet and she almost mourned the sound of his voice.

 

But Denise’s words still echo in her head even now.

 

_Yeah, they are,_ Daryl mutters as they come to a stop in front of her door. Suddenly, the silence between them feels thick, thicker even than it did last night when they parted after their walk in the park. She feels that same need bubbling up as she did then – the need to breach the distance between them and touch him. Even the chastest of touch would be enough, she's sure.

 

Just a taste, a small voice whispers to her, fueled by the wine in her system.

 

_Thank you for inviting me,_ she says softly, her fingers fidgeting against her thighs and when her eyes flicker down, she sees Daryl’s hands curled into fists. As she takes in the sight of him, her eyes are drawn to his chest just like earlier when he picked her up. The white shirt looks crisp and new, spanning over his broad shoulders and her mouth feels dry imagining how warm his skin must feel beneath.

 

_Wasn't me, was-_ he begins to excuse himself, belittling the effort he put into asking her to come along.

 

_I know,_ she interrupts him, taking a cautious step forward. _Still._ He doesn't move to step away, but his eyes are fixed on her as she moves closer, just a tiny step. The floorboards creak under her weight, and her palms feels damp. _Thank you._ She didn't mean for it to sound this breathless but it does, and her heart pounds mercilessly because he hasn't moved away yet. _I'm glad you asked._

 

Her eyes catch on his throat when he swallows deftly, the shadow of his stubble all too distracting. _Glad ya came,_ he rasps, still not moving. _Good night,_ he adds plainly, almost in parting, but instead of turning away and heading downstairs he does something unexpected and bold. Takes a step forward towards her.

 

Her breath hitches in her throat, no more than a foot of space between them now. Suddenly, she's unsure of what exactly she just initiated, but she doesn't want this opportunity to go to waste. Doesn't take it for granted that instead of running away, Daryl approached her.

 

_Good night,_ she breathes, taking one last step to breach the distance between them. Lifting up onto her toes, she leans in, presses her lips just barely to his cheek. It's a featherlight touch, innocent if not for the jolt of heat it sends down her spine, poling in the pit of her stomach like a festering ache and mingling with the wine in a dangerous and reckless way.

 

She doesn't pull away, lingers instead and touches her hand lightly to his forearm to balance herself. He's still against her, his breath warm against the side of her neck and _God_ , he smells good. Earthy and clean and it makes her head spin more than the wine. _Daryl?_ His name is a low murmur, and against her, she can feel his body tremble in response. That alone makes her feel better than she could have imagined – powerful and desired.

 

She pulls back a little, enough to face him, his eyes darker than they were before. Her hand on his arm remains, fingers tracing down to his wrist. _Do you- would you like to come in?_ Her eyes are fixed on his lips, slightly parted, all too inviting. _For... a coffee?_ she ends weakly, her voice breaking at the end.

 

The second the last word leaves her mouth she wants to curse herself because what is she thinking? The way his eyes widen tells her he knows exactly it's not coffee she's inviting him inside for, and what if he says yes? She's not ready for that, and it would only end in a complete disaster for both of them.

 

Daryl just stares at her for a moment. _I- that's..._ She drops her hand then, can already see the rejection in the way his face contorts in discomfort. _I can't,_ he rasps, waving his hand towards the stairs. _Gotta go._

 

A part of her is disappointed because as much as she had no control over her voice when she spoke, she _does_ want him to come inside. To see where that would take them. But another part of her is grateful that he's being responsible, that he's saving them both from so much shame. And there's another part, small but ugly with its claws and devious smile, that tells her Denise was wrong and that he just isn't interested. That he doesn't find her desirable at all and is just politely declining something he has no interest in at all.

 

_I'm sorry, it's fine,_ she says quickly, sounding a little breathless and forcing herself to smile through her discomfort. _You don't have-_

 

_I wanna,_ he interrupts her, his voice hoarse and deep and when the meaning behind his words sink in, Carol feels feverish. But whatever courage had driven him to admit what he did, it fades as quickly as it came and he's staring down at his boots a second later. _Just... can't._ His voice nearly breaks, making her chest ache. Once again, the echo of her conversation with Denise fills her mind, and she wonders now more than ever what scars he carries. _Not tonight,_ he adds, glancing up at her and making her shiver from head to toe because if he says not _tonight_ then maybe that means...

 

_Oh,_ she breathes, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then, gently, she nods. He does the same, looks at her for a brief second before he turns, hands shoved in his pockets, and disappears down the stairs.

 

 

 

Later, when she's laying alone in her bed, staring at the plain, white ceiling, it's difficult not to let her mind drift to what ifs. What if instead of pressing her lips to his cheek, she had aimed for his lips? Would he have allowed her or pushed her away? Would he have kissed her back? Trailing her fingertip over her bottom lip, she wonders what it would feel like to kiss him. If his lips would be warm or cool, soft or chapped.

 

What if he hadn't declined her offer? Would they have been brave enough to do anything more than share a coffee? Would she have bitten back her fears and insecurities?

 

She sighs, closing her eyes.

 

What if they were different people with different paths who would not be afraid to take this simple step forwards? Would he still be here now, a naked, warm body to curl up against? Would he wake her in the dead of night with a kiss to her temple or the base of her neck? Would his hands – calloused and warm – explore her exposed skin, trace every line and curve? Would he allow her to wrap herself around him and take him inside of her again and again and again?

 

Her entire body trembles just at the thought, and almost absent-mindedly, her hand slips beneath the cotton of her shirt. Smoothing her palm over the quivering plane of her stomach, Carol sucks in a gasping breath, her fingertips inching just slightly under the waistband of her shorts. Already, she's pressing her thighs together for some friction, anything to relief the sudden heat that's burning her alive.

 

It's been so long since she felt like this, any lust she felt over the past decade never caused by another person. Her fingers inch further south over warm, tense skin until she bites the inside of her cheek to keep quiet.

 

It feels wrong to think of him like this, all alone in the darkness of her bedroom. To image his hands on her breasts and his lips suckling on the tender skin of her neck. To pretend he's the one parting her thighs, settling between them. To replace her own fingers with his when she slides them inside, biting back a groan. To daringly let her mind wonder to a place where he's kissing a burning trail from her lips down to her core.

 

She falls apart to thoughts of him kissing her long and deep, pushing himself into her over and over in a hasty rhythm, imagining him losing himself inside of her, pulsing warm and deep and muffling a groan into the crook of her shoulder.

 

After, her body feels limp and sated but in the wake of her release, she can feel a hollow ache spreading through her. Because the sheets by her side are cold and her arm tired from holding it at an awkward angle and as she pulls her shirt down from where it bunched beneath her breasts, she feels an old sense of shame overwhelming her.

 

It serenades her into a restless sleep like it has done so many times before.


	12. cold shower

He's never having wine again. Ever. Or beer, or any alcohol at all. And maybe Carol shouldn't, either, because what the fuck just happened?

 

Storming down the stairs, his mind is a clusterfuck. He can still feel the burn of her lips on his cheek and the pressure of her hand on his arm, can still smell the sweet scent of wine on her breath. She'd been so close, close enough that it wouldn't have taken much for him to lean in and press his lips to that spot behind her ear, inhaling the scent of her and feel the silky softness of her skin.

 

But he's more concerned with her offer, her voice repeating in his mind like a mantra. He ain't an idiot – he knows what _coffee_ means. What he said after – what he so openly admitted – that already feels like a mistake on his tongue. Neither of them is drunk enough to forget what happened tonight, and that means he has to face her after downright telling her he wants to-

 

_Fuck,_ he mutters, slamming the door to his apartment shut behind him, the darkness of the room engulfing him for a moment until his eyes adjust to the faint light that falls in through the small windows.

 

He isn't sure if she meant what she said. If she actually wanted him to come inside and- damn it. It doesn't matter because he sure as hell spoke the truth and if she didn't, if she only said what she did because she had too much wine, that will make things between them more than a little uncomfortable.

 

No more wine. Not even to calm his nerves. _Especially_ then.

 

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Daryl tries to will his mind to stop repeating her words. It's a futile attempt, though, and his imagination is having a damn field day, showing him in crystal clarity what might have happened if he hadn't chickened out.

 

Her pale skin against his own. Tracing her freckles all the way down to where they disappear under her blouse. Tasting the wine on her lips. Feeling her body move against his, lithe and tender. Eager, maybe. The softness of her against him, around him.

 

Shit. He needs a cold shower.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't see her for three days after that. Doesn't run into her anywhere and sure as hell doesn't have the balls to go up and talk to her or even just text her. Ask how she's doing. Apologize for what he said.

 

Essentially, he's doing exactly what Tara and Denise told him _not_ to do. Instead, he buries himself in work. Gets the whole courtyard done in a day and a half. Picks up the wooden planks for the hallway himself and starts measuring the ceilings. Changes a bunch of light bulbs all over the building. Cuts the shrubs out front. Fixes a few creaking steps.

 

When he's working, it's easier not to think about Carol. Not to wonder about what she's doing and if she's thinking about him, too.

 

But he misses her, and that takes him a while to admit. To figure out. Because he hasn't missed anyone since his momma died and that was so long ago that the feeling has become nothing more than a dull, phantom ache. He sure as hell doesn't miss his bastard of a father. Or his brother. His life is better without him dragging his crap over his doorstep.

 

He misses Carol, although he knows there's no logical reason why he should.

 

* * *

 

It's Sunday. It's his bloody day off. So, when his phone buzzes at nine in the morning, his mood instantly turns foul.

 

It's probably Merle. Or Gregory. Either way, he doesn't care. He's just going to let it go to voice mail and not check that until tomorrow morning. Annoyed at the interruption, he tosses away the motorcycle magazine he'd been reading and grabs his empty cup of coffee, intent on setting it into the sink and let it stay there for a few days.

 

Only, on the way there, he sees the name that lights up his phone screen.

 

He almost slips on his socked feet as he rushes over to grab the phone.

 

_Hello?_ he gasps when he picks up, afraid she hang up already because it took him so damn long. _Carol?_

 

_Oh, hey,_ she replies, clearly surprised that he did in fact pick up. _Is this a bad time?_ she asks, sounding genuinely concerned to have bothered him. Truth be told, he wasn't really doing much in the first place. He just didn't want to handle anyone else's shit today. Her voice, though – that already makes this boring day worthwhile.

 

_Nah, 's good,_ he reassures her, setting down his cup in the sink and leaning his hip against the counter. _Everythin' all right?_ There must be a reason she's calling him. In a far corner of his mind, he's afraid she wants to talk about what happened the other day, but he's quickly put at ease when she reveals her true reason.

 

_Not really._ She sounds exasperated. _I just took a shower and-_ His mind goes to places it really shouldn't, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. _Well, there's no hot water,_ Carol explains after a short pause. _I called Lori but she says theirs is working just fine._

 

His brows crease. This is new. _Hmm. Ya change anything 'bout the water heater?_ he asks. That's the first thing that comes to mind. They put in new ones around a year before he started working here, but there's never been a glitch with them since then.

 

_I didn't touch it. I promise,_ Carol says with a light chuckle that he mirrors. Trailing his finger over a coffee stain on his counter, Daryl weighs his next words carefully. He could just tell her to call a plumber. Spare them both the embarrassment of another interaction. Push her away.

 

_Can take a look at it now, if ya wanna,_ he offers instead, his palms already clammy and his stomach clenching nervously because damn it, if he goes up there they can't really ignore the elephant in the room and he can't discuss that. Can't talk about whether or not what he said was the truth.

 

_Oh, it's your day off, surely?_ Carol sounds concerned again. In the background, he can hear the breeze coming in through an open window. _It can wait._ She's being polite, but he knows she doesn't really want to take a cold shower tomorrow morning.

 

_Ain't got anything better to to, anyway,_ he says, wanting to smack the damn smile off his face because she can't see it anyway.

 

Maybe she heard it, though – somehow. Because when she replies he's pretty sure she's smiling, too. _Okay. But really, it's okay if you don't want to._ There's no doubt that he wants to help her. What keeps him in check is everything else he wants but can't really condense into a proper wish inside his mind.

 

_I'll be up in ten._ He's already walking over to his dresser to change out of his ratty sweatpants, feeling a little nauseous.

 

_Thank you,_ Carol says softly, and damn it, the sound of her voice alone is enough to make him dizzy.

 

_'s all right._

 

* * *

 

She took a shower all right. And at least for a little while, the hot water must have worked because the bathroom is humid and the window foggy and Carol's cheeks are flushed a deep red. Her hair is still glistening, a few droplets of water running down her throat every now and then, soaking into the dark blue shirt she wears and he needs to tear his eyes away from that or else he'll never be able to concentrate.

 

Only, one glance at her water heater tells him that there's not much concentration required. _Ya sure ya didn't mess with this?_ he asks, his brows rising and Carol shoots him a confused look.

 

_I am,_ she says, but then she suddenly doesn't look so sure anymore. _I think._ She crosses her arms in front of her, just below her breasts and that does things to them that are really distracting and so he stares at the shower stall instead- only that doesn't help, either. Just reminds him of the shower he took that night. Icy cold and still not enough to stop his thoughts from drifting and in the end he had to handle his problem the old-fashioned way. It felt dirty to think about her like that but he did, and now his own cheeks flush and he's afraid that every fantasy he had is written in bright neon letters on his forehead. _I don't know, why would I?_ Carol eventually sighs, looking a little defeated.

 

_Well, this ain't how it's supposed ta be,_ he says in a lighter tone, not wanting her to feel bad about something that turned out to be no big deal at all.

 

Her eyes light up like the damn spring sky, full of hope. _Can you fix it?_

 

He snorts at that, shaking his head. _Ain't nothin' to fix. Just gotta flick the switch,_ he explains, pointing at the switch in questions that's been turned into the wrong direction. It's a problem easily solved.

 

_Oh,_ Carol mouths, looking a little caught between relief that it's nothing serious and embarrassment. _Well, now I feel stupid,_ she says with a light laugh, but he waves his hand. This isn't something she needs to have any knowledge about. _I swear, this wasn't some trick to lure you in here,_ she explains with a grin, and his stomach clenches at the mere idea.

 

_Don't need no trick for that,_ he mutters, his hand curling into a fist the moment he says the words because he's such a damn fool. This is exactly why they didn't talk for a few days in the first place. Because of all these things she makes him say, just draws out of him with barely any effort.

 

She looks surprised by his bluntness for a moment, but then her expression changes into something softer, something more insecure. _I did want to talk to you,_ Carol says on a sigh, sitting down on the closed toilet and drumming her fingers against her knees. They're bare, peeking out under the cotton shorts she's wearing. _About the other night._ Daryl tenses, the room suddenly too warm and the air too thick. This is what he wanted to avoid - a confrontation. But he can't flee now and Carol seems determined to get this over with. All the while seemingly just as nervous as he is. _I am so sorry,_ she says, shaking her head. _That was- I don't know why I said that, that was so.... forward and inappropriate and I'm really sorry._ The words all but tumble from her mouth in a mess and maybe she tried to make sense of them beforehand.

 

He is quiet for a moment, mindful not to blurt out the wrong thing again. _Y'ain't gotta apologize,_ he says eventually, offering her a somewhat half-hearted smile when she looks up at him. _Wasn't offended or anythin'. Ya were a lil' drunk,_ he adds after a small pause, trying to lighten the mood but clearly fading because she shakes her head.

 

_I wasn't. I really wasn't,_ she admits, her voice low and her fingers knotted together and her words make his head spin. So, did she really mean what she said? As much as he meant what he admitted in return? Before he can ask her that – and he wouldn't have found the courage anyway – she huffs out a laugh. _I'm not making this any better, am I?_

 

It was bound to be uncomfortable one way or the other, but he realizes now that it doesn't have to mean that what they have – what he thinks they might be – has to end. _Ain't makin' it worse,_ _neither,_ he mutters, and when she smiles at him he can't help but smile back. The tension eases a little, and he's grateful for that because he does enjoy her company so damn much.

 

_So, how about some coffee now?_ Carol asks, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a grin and he nearly chokes on his spit when he sees the sparkle in her eyes. _Actual coffee,_ she adds, but the expression on her face tells him she knows exactly what she's doing. Pushing herself back onto her feet, she looks at him expectantly.

 

_Sounds good to me,_ he replies, and a second later he's following her out into the kitchen, not a doubt in his mind that this is how he always wanted to spend his day off.


	13. coffee

The store is empty except for one customer. A man with the world's worst haircut, tucked away somewhere in the self-help section. He comes here on a weekly basis, so Carol doesn't pay him much attention. Instead, she goes over the sheets for the inventory she started preparing the other day, twirling a pencil around her fingers when the bell above the door rings.

 

Looking up, she's surprised to see Lori entering the store with a determined look on her face. It's her day off, so she really should not be here. She makes a beeline for Carol, her sandals flip-flopping against the wooden floor. _Something you want to tell me?_ she asks before Carol has a chance to greet her, crossing her thin arms in front of her chest.

 

_Good morning?_ Carol replies, wondering what's happening here.

 

_Why didn't you mention that you went on a date with Daryl?_ Lori asks, sounding mildly offended but not quite able to hide a hint of excitement. _Twice?_

 

Carol's stomach drops. _What?_ she asks, wondering where Lori would have gotten that idea. _I did not-_

 

_The whole house apparently knows you went to the park with him the other night, Lori_ explains, and Carol puts the pencil and paper down, feeling a little sick. How would anyone know that? _And then Rick just called me, telling me that Tara told him you and Daryl went to dinner at their place last night?_ Lori continues, walking around the counter and sitting down on the stool they keep tucked away with a sigh. _Why am I the last to hear about this?_

 

She sounds genuinely disappointed and Carol does understand why. But she's more concerned with the fact that Lori has gotten this all wrong. _It wasn't a date,_ she clarifies, wondering if Daryl knows about these rumors. _Tara and Denise just invited me for dinner. Not us together._ Lori raises her brows at that, nearly disappearing under her bangs. _And I ran into him in the park, we didn't go there together._

 

_Maggie says you came home together, though,_ Lori quips, and slowly Carol begins to piece together how this rumor came to be. Maggie must have seen the two of them when they got back from the park. Panic rushes through her at the idea of Daryl finding out about this – surely he must feel even more uncomfortable about it than she does.

 

_We took a walk together,_ she explains, trying to downplay what she silently has to admit felt more like a date than any actual date she's ever been on. _Had dinner in the park._ Her voice goes quiet and she avoids looking at Lori, running the pad of her thumb over the side of the register instead. She needs to dust that later.

 

_That sounds like a date to me,_ Lori says with a grin tickling the corners of her mouth. For a moment, Carol considers defending herself and denying it, but then her resolve crumbles and she sighs in defeat.

 

_It does, right?_ Leaning her hip against the side of the counter, she presses her palm to her forehead. _Oh, Lori. I messed up last night,_ she groans, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

_What happened?_

 

It's almost physically painful to admit, but Carol pushes through her embarrassment, explaining with flushed cheeks what happened last night. _He walked me to my apartment and- I don't know why I said that but... I asked him inside for..._ Lori's eyes widen a little as she listens, perched on the edge of the stool. _Well, for a coffee,_ Carol ends, her voice barely above a whisper because while the customer is far enough away, she doesn't want to risk him overhearing this.

 

Lori just grins in response, pursing her lips in an effort to contain it. _Coffee, huh?_ Carol shoots her a pleading look, knowing fully well how ridiculous all of this is. _I take it he said no?_

 

She sighs, the memory of what he said and _how_ he said it – low and hoarsely – sending a shiver down her spine. _Kind of. He said that he can't, not tonight._

 

Lori's face lights up like a firework then, and she claps her hands together. _That's great, Carol!_ She sounds so enthusiastic that it's almost contagious – if it wasn't for the shame that weighs Carol down. Lori seems to notice, reaching her arm out to touch her hand to Carol's elbow. _Just give it some time,_ she says reassuringly, her voice kinder now.

 

As grateful as Carol is to have someone to talk to about this, it's not quite enough. _Lori, I'm so embarrassed,_ she admits quietly, cursing the wine and her hormones and Daryl's white shirt and whatever else caused her tongue to slip and ask that damn question in the first place.

 

_There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Carol,_ Lori tries to calm her, and logically, she's right. They're all adults. There's nothing wrong with trying to initiate what she did – only it feels like she took a dozen steps forward and in the process threw them back a mile. _Have you talked to him?_

 

Carol vigorously shakes her head. _No, I can't._ She considered calling him during her lunch break, but she's not sure what to say. How to say it. How he'd even react.

 

_You should,_ Lori insists softly, pulling her hand away and folding them both in her lap. _Why didn't you tell me you liked him?_ The question is gentle and void of accusations, and Carol's heart clenches a little because it sounds foreign – _feels_ foreign – for her to like anyone like this.

 

Instead of denying it, though, she chooses to tell her friend the truth. _It's so new,_ she breathes, talking about it like it's fragile and breakable, the most delicate of things. And maybe it is – whatever _it_ is. _I don't... It's been so long, Lori._

 

She'd married Ed right out of high school, and before that only went on a handful of dates with other boys – young and foolish and as innocent as it could have been. Despite her marriage, she feels like she has no experience with this at all – feeling clueless and overwhelmed. Being with Ed had hardly amounted to any experience with this. With something good.

 

Lori watches her for a moment, understanding her inner turmoil even though Carol never shared a very detailed account of her marriage with Lori. She knows the basics, knows why it fell apart, why she ran away. But there are many secrets Carol chose to keep for herself. Still, even with what little information she has, Lori is able to figure out why Carol struggles so much with this.

 

_You got this,_ she promises softly, and Carol wishes she could believe that as easily as Lori seems to do.

 

* * *

 

_Do you want milk or sugar?_ Carol asks, pouring steaming hot coffee into two mugs. Daryl is sitting at her dining table, still looking a little nervous to be here. She'd been afraid he'd bolt out of her apartment when she brought up their conversation from the other night earlier, but he'd persisted, and she's glad now for his company.

 

He shakes his head, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table top. _Nah, thanks._

 

A smile ghosts over her face when she reaches for the can of sugar, pouring a teaspoon of it into her own cup. _I didn't think so,_ she says, grabbing their coffee and making her way over to him. _No sweet-tooth?_

 

_Didn't say that,_ he replies quietly, his voice as low as if admitting this was somehow inappropriate. There's so much about him and the way he behaves that makes Carol curious, and she watches as he thanks her for the coffee, curling his hands around the mug.

 

For a moment, they sit in silence, the warm breeze from the open balcony door sifting through Carol's still damp hair. It feels the way she always imagined Sundays could feel. _The courtyard looks really good,_ she says after a while, taking a careful sip of the hot coffee. She'd seen him work on it from the hallway window a few times over the last few days, and the result is pretty breathtaking.

 

Where the old concrete tiles had been faded and covered in moss, the new ones look much prettier, almost like a mosaic from far above. Event though they are brand new, they seem old and worn in just the right way, blending perfectly with the brick walls of the building.

 

_Was fallin' apart,_ Daryl explains, dismissing her compliment. _Could do with some green, though. Been thinkin' I might plant some stuff in the back._ He takes a few tiny sips of coffee, his tongue tracing his bottom lip – she stares at it for a moment too long before tearing her eyes away, but judging by the way he looks at her, he noticed.

 

_That would look nice,_ she says with a faint blush on her cheeks, focusing on her coffee instead. The large gulp she takes burns her tongue but she bites back a hiss.

 

_Ain't noboy usin' it 'cept for the trash and parkin' their bikes. But if it was a little more green, maybe get a bench or somethin'..._ Daryl trails off into silence, looking down at his calloused hands around the mug instead. _Don't matter,_ he says dismissively, and it's a shame. She could listen to him talking so passionately about his vision for this place all day long and not get tired of it.

 

_No, that sounds lovely,_ she says, picturing it all in her head. _You could get a fountain. Make it our own park._ He looks up at her with slightly raised brows and she quickly backtracks. _I mean, for everyone. The kids would love that, too._

 

Daryl shrugs. _Guess so. Might ask Dale 'bout it._ Then, lightly, the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. _Ain't getting' no damn fountain, though._

 

Rolling her eyes, Carol sighs. _Spoilsport._ They share a laugh for a moment and when it fades, Carol feels warm and malleable and peaceful. _There's so much you could do with it,_ she wonders out loud, her mind spinning with all sorts of ideas. _You could make it look really whimsical. Or like some place from King's Landing,_ she chuckles, picturing lemon trees and intricate fountains.

 

_Where's that?_ Daryl asks, taking another sip of coffee and sounding genuinely curious.

 

_From Game of Thrones,_ she clarifies, slightly amused by his question because where did he think it was? As she takes another sip of coffee, she suddenly wishes she'd made cookies recently to go along with this.

 

_That a movie?_ Daryl asks, and Carol's hand freezes mid air, all thoughts of cookies crumbling in her mind.

 

_Are you saying... no,_ she says plainly, setting down her mug with a dull thud and staring at Daryl like he just landed here from another planet. _You've never seen Game of Thrones?_

 

_No,_ he shrugs. _Why'd'ya look so offened?_

 

She can't quite believe what he's saying. He never even seems to have heard of it and how can that be? Where does he live? _Well, that's just wrong,_ she states, shaking her head. _How can you- Seriously?_ He nods, looking a little confused. _We need to fix that. You'll like it, I promise._ At least, she's pretty sure he would.

 

_What's it about?_ he asks, trying his best to handle her absolute shock with some dignity – and he's doing a pretty decent job, too because he hasn't blushed yet.

 

Carol sighs, wondering where to begin. _That's hard to explain. It's a series. And there are dragons,_ she teases with a smirk, but it doesn't have the desired effect when Daryl makes a displeased face.

 

_Don't sound like-_

 

_Give it a try,_ she interrupts him, suddenly eager for them to share this, to have something to discuss that doesn't dig too deep into the walls they've both built. _Please?_ She gives him her best pout and boy does he squirm on his seat – so much so that Carol nearly forgets what she was about to say, her heart skipping a beat.

 

_I have the box-sets, you can borrow those,_ she offers, but he still doesn't look convinced. Scrambling for any leverage to convince him, she's suddenly hit by an idea. It's bold and maybe she's crossing a line again but just like the other night, she can't find the strength within her to stop herself from asking. _How about we watch the first episode now? If you don't like it, I won't bother you with it again._

 

She doesn't quite know why she's so thrilled by the idea of this. Maybe it's because it's an excuse to spend more time with him, maybe it's a selfish need to push her interests onto someone else. Either way, he looks like she hit him with a truck. _And if you do, you can take it with you,_ she continues, figuring that she's already started this so she might as well finish. _You said you had nothing else to do._

 

He snorts at that, calming her increasingly anxious nerves. _'kay._

 

It takes her a second before she comprehends that he just agreed to her ridiculous plan, but then she's on her feet instantly. _Great!_ she gasps excitedly, and before she can stop herself she reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him to his feet. _Come on._

 

He doesn't let go until she all but shoves him down on the sofa, and only then does Carol slow down, their eyes meeting for a moment as his fingers slip ever so slowly from hers.


	14. dragons, pizza and boobs

He has never seen so many naked people in such a short amount of time ever in his life. And he certainly hasn't seen this many tits since he still lived with Merle and there was more porn on their TV than anything else.

 

It's not like he's never seen the real deal before, either. Merle's hook-ups when he was younger, wandering around the trailer where they lived. Hookers when he was a little older – his brother's idea of a birthday gift. After that, whenever he needed to scratch an itch, it rarely lasted long enough for anyone to really take off more clothes than required.

 

It's been a while since he's seen the real deal, after all. And porn never really lived up to it, anyway.

 

Halfway into the second episode, he was pretty sure this is what this actually is. Porn. Very expensive, very elaborate porn – and he was squirming in his seat like someone poured ants down his pants. There's no way Carol didn't know what she was about to inflict on him when she sat him down to watch this – when she took his hand with her own soft and delicate one, fingers curled around his like it's the most natural thing in the world for them to do.

 

She must have known and yet here he sits, staring at the menu screen and listening to that damn catchy music on repeat, the aftershocks of the last episode still throbbing in his mind.

 

He's doing better now, nine episodes into this season. Has somewhat come to term with the fact that the people on this show apparently have nothing else to do except killing each other or have sex with anyone available – including their damn siblings. He'd nearly choked on his own spit when that came up, and Carol had giggled like a mad woman when he muttered a curse and shuddered because _Jesus Christ!_

 

She enjoyed his obvious misery way too much. More than once, he was caught catching a glimpse at her. And even more often, he caught her side-eying him with a devious smile.

 

He tried hard not to stare at all the boobs flashing over his screen – with mediocre success. That wasn't the real problem, though. Rather, it was his thoughts wandering down a dangerous path. Thinking about boobs too much meant he inevitably starting thinking about Carol sitting right next to him, barely a foot of space between them. The shirt she wears doesn’t reveal a thing but that didn't stop his imagination from running wild. She must have great boobs. Small and pale and-

 

He tried focusing on the plot instead. Only, that seemed to blend together so much with all the damn sex people were having that it didn't help much either. He was glad for the warm air coming from the open balcony door – it was a decent enough excuse for his flustered face.

 

After a while, he began to relax, though. Ain't like he's a damn virgin. He uncurled his fingers from tight fists, kicked off his shoes and joined Carol's bare feet on the coffee table. He still avoided looking at Carol whenever a sliver of naked skin flashed across the screen, but after a while, the initial shock of the crassness of it all faded.

 

How they ended up watching almost the entire season instead of the one episode Carol asked for, he doesn't know. It just happened. And he's never been more grateful for something messing up his usual Sunday plans.

 

_Do you need a knife and fork for that?_ Carol calls from the kitchen, the clattering of cutlery mixing with the music drumming from the speakers. He cranes his neck to look at her, holding up a knife and fork for herself.

 

_This some kinda fancy restaurant?_ he snorts, earning himself an eye roll and a light laugh that's the best melody in the world.

 

_Shut up,_ she throws at him, grabbing the two pizzas that were delivered just five minutes ago. _Here,_ she says, shoving his pizza at him and setting her own down on the coffee table. _I wish I had some beer for you or something,_ she muses, sitting down with a sigh. _I only have wine..._ Trailing off into silence, their eyes meet. Everything that needs to be said is explained in the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth and his eyes catch the movement before looking away just as quickly.

 

_Nah, thanks,_ he snorts, remembering his resolution about alcohol. Especially in situations like these – full of potential.

 

He can see her nodding from his periphery. _Yeah._

 

They are quiet for a moment after that, and Daryl traces the seam of the pizza box with his finger, his mouth watering at the sight of melted cheese. _Can't believe they chopped that guy's head off,_ he states then, eager to steer the conversation away from the other night's events. That beheading had come as a surprise, but he wasn't exactly very sad about the loss. _He was shady, though._ Taking a bite of pizza, he watches Carol for a response, her forehead creasing.

 

_How was_ he _shady?_ she asks, picking up her knife and fork and cutting a piece off her own pizza.

 

Daryl shrugs, chewing for a moment – damn, he hasn't had pizza this good in a long time. _When he talked to his kid – ya know, the one with the hair – 'bout his mom, he was bein' shady as fuck. Either that kid's mom is super important or that ain't his kid at all._ It seemed fairly obvious that something was foul about the whole thing, so maybe the guy had it coming to him.

 

The corner of Carol's mouth curls up into a smirk. _You're good._

 

_Which one is it?_ he asks through a mouthful of pizza, propping his feet back onto the coffee table and balancing the pizza on his lap.

 

_No spoilers,_ Carol reminds him with a wink, completely ignoring his annoyed groan and reaching for the remote instead. _Ready for the grand finale?_ She looks so excited, completely enthralled and even if he didn't enjoy this weird show at least a little he'd still watch all five hundred seasons with her just to see that look of pure joy on her face.

 

_Yeah._ It comes out much quieter than he intended, his mind still too preoccupied with memorizing her expression. Carol's thumb moves to the play button but he manages to speak up before she presses it. _One question._ She looks up, and God damn how are her eyes so blue? _Ya said there'd be dragons. They gonna hatch outta them eggs or what?_

 

He ain't all that much into dragons but the way she'd try to sell the show to him earlier by mentioning them made him think they'd be a big deal. A bunch of eggs had turned out to be a little anticlimactic.

 

There's a knowing glint to her eyes that makes him squirm almost as much as all that bare skin had. _Just watch,_ she teases with a fucking wink, and then her eyes flicker down to the slice of pizza in his hand. _And eat your pizza like a caveman._

 

_Stop,_ he mutters, digging into his pizza as the intro starts playing for the tenth time that day.

 

* * *

 

_The fuck's goin' on now?_ he mutters in disbelief, watching the very naked and _very_ pregnant woman on screen sitting down on the ground and giving birth to.... something. She was weird and creepy enough already but now it's just disturbing, something shadowy crawling out of her.... _Carol?_ he asks, waiting for an explanation of sorts but when he doesn't get one, he turns his head.

 

The room is dark except for the light of the TV screen and small lamp on a shelf above them, the sky outside pitch black. It's late and they probably should have stopped two episodes ago. Carol clearly has had enough. Her eyes are closed and just a second after he turns towards her her head tilts to the side, nudging softly against his shoulder.

 

He tenses instantly but there's no where to go for him. Instead, he takes a deep breath, allows his body a moment to adjust and shake off old demons because this is different. This doesn't hurt. It does, however, make him a little uncomfortable because she's asleep and cuddling up to him is definitely not something she'd do if she was awake right now. _Carol,_ he says softly, but she doesn't even stir. Her breath is even, warm against his skin.

 

Not wanting to startle her, Daryl wraps an arm loosely around her, enough to nudge her shoulder. _Carol._

 

She does stir then, but it only has the opposite effect of what he intended. She burrows closer into him, her eyes still closed, a delicate hand coming up to curl around his arm. _Hmm,_ she hums, the vibrations of it so close to his skin sending a shiver down his spine. Warmth fills his veins, the gentle and sweet kind because he realizes with a start that he could get used to this. That he's not as afraid of it as he thought he'd be. Holding her, feeling her against him – it's good in a way he never knew it could be.

 

_Think 's time for bed,_ he whispers, closing his eyes for a brief second when curls of her silver hair tickle his jaw.

 

Carol replies with a disgruntled sound that's muffled by his shoulder and it puts the easiest smile on his face. _Just one more minute,_ she murmurs, nuzzling her face against him and his heart pounds so hard he's surprised the drum of it doesn't wake her fully. _Just one._ He can feel her lips moving against his arm through his shirt and he has to hold himself back from leaning down to rest his chin on the crown of her head – or maybe his cheek. Or maybe he could press his own lips there.

 

_All right,_ he breathes. He shouldn't take advantage of her right now, she's barely even awake. What he should do is wake her properly, but he allows himself to be weak and selfish for just a few seconds as the credits roll on screen, feeling the warmth of her against him. Ever so slightly, he allows the pad of his thumb to brush against her upper arm, just a little. _Carol?_ he asks when the menu pops back up, resisting the urge to pull her closer, tuck her properly into his side.

 

_Hmm?_

 

He waits for a moment before he asks, curiosity winning because he's been pondering this since this morning. _Did ya mess with the water heater?_

 

It takes her a moment to reply, a moment in which nothing exists but the two of them this close, sheltered in a cocoon of sorts that he finds himself more and more unwilling to leave. _No,_ she murmurs eventually, the grip of her hand around his arm tightening a little as she moves even closer somehow. _I really didn't touch it._

 

He's pretty convinced she's telling the truth, but that makes it all the more confusing. If that switch had been like that all this time, she'd have had troubles with the water much, much sooner. Carol doesn't seem to dwell on that, though, sighing contently and somehow moving even closer until all of her is pressed into his side.

 

_Ya sure ya don't wanna go to bed?_ he asks again, nudging her shoulder a little more fervently than before because what is he going to do if she falls asleep for real? Just sit here until the morning? Shake her awake? Slip out of her grasp and leave?

 

_What?_ Carol asks with a lazy voice, and maybe he nudged her enough because her head lifts a little and she blinks heavily. _Oh,_ she breathes when her eyes stay open finally and she looks right at him with barely a few inches of space between them. For a moment, they remain frozen, but then she seems to realize what happened and her eyes widen. _Oh,_ she gasps, quickly pulling away from him and leaving his body feeling cold. _I'm sorry,_ she mutters, looking completely shocked by what she's done and staring down at her lap. _Maybe we should stop for today,_ she says quietly, glancing up at the screen.

 

_Yeah._ He doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable. He sure doesn't. Or rather: he didn't. Before. And that's terrifying. He ran from physical touch and closeness all his life and then she comes along, takes his hand and falls asleep curled into his side and he feels like somehow he is complete when he never even fully realized how incomplete he felt before.

 

_Do you..._ Carol begins, looking up at him, the dim light glowing on her pale skin. She looks shy now, clearly weighing her next words carefully. _Do you have next Sunday off, too?_

 

She doesn't ask the question she obviously wants to ask and he never gives her the answer, either. Still, when he says _I do_ they both know it's settled, and excitement pools in Daryl’s veins to the point he feels like his nerves are turning into fireworks.

 

Sunday can't come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the chapter title *hides*
> 
> This is most likely the last update until this weekend. Due to a bunch of cancellations, I worked three half-days this week and had plenty of time to write, but the next to two days will be relatively back to normal. So, I'm not sure I'll be able to get the next chapter up before Saturday.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this :)


	15. it's settled

She hates elevators. Hates small, confined spaces in general. But she's got her hands full with bags of trash and now that the elevator is fixed, she's not going to torture herself by carrying it all down the stairs.

 

It rattles as it lowers down from the floor above, and she pulls open the old, cast-iron doors with the tips of her fingers, balancing the bags carefully. She really doesn't need the hassle of scattering her trash all over the floor.

 

The elevator isn't empty, and she's greeted by Ezekiel, standing tall against the mirror that covers the two walls on the side with a heavy red coat, his cat sitting by his feet. Her collar is gold, Carol notices, meeting the cat's curious, brown eyes. _Good morning, fair maiden,_ Ezekiel says with a deep voice and a bow of his head, and Carol bites back a grin as she steps into the elevator with him, closing the doors behind her.

 

_Morning,_ she replies, and then something warm and furry brushes her ankle. Looking down, the ginger cat rubs herself against her leg, sniffing and purring. _Hello, you._ She wishes she could kneel down and pet her, but she's already struggling just walking with all the extra weight she's carrying.

 

Ezekiel eyes the exchange with an approve expression that he has mastered all too well. _Shiva appears to have taken a shine to you._ He sounds kind enough to make up for his ridiculous behavior. After Daryl told her he was an actor, she'd googled him. Turns out he'd been on a handful of show on television, some she'd actually watched. Mostly, though, he is active in the local theater, even running the drama classes at the high school. _She is a excellent judge of character,_ he explains, and Carol feels herself blushing a little. She feels like she's stuck in a play herself, not quite sure how to react. But Ezekiel doesn't let her simmer in the awkward silence for long. _Have you settled in well?_

 

She smiles, watching as Shiva dutifully sits down by his feet again. _I have._

 

He seems genuinely pleased to hear that, nodding slowly and dramatically. Then, a look of wonderment crosses his face and he seems to hesitate before speaking. _It has come to my attention that Mr. Dixon has been of great assistance to you,_ he says, slow words and a cautious gaze at her from his periphery as the elevator begins to lower down, old chains rattling disturbingly. _Your little dalliance hasn't gone unnoticed. I'm afraid news travels fast within these walls._

 

Carol feels her eyes widen and her breath stuttering. Even though she knew people are gossiping about her and Daryl, she didn’t think it went quite this far. _Dalliance?_ she repeats, shaking her head. _We're not- it's not-_

 

Ezekiel lifts a hand – somehow managing to make even that small move look majestic. He is good at this act, very good. So good even that it almost distracts her from feeling embarrassed. _Do not fret,_ he reassures her. _It is not my desire to involve myself in matters that are none of my concern. Mr. Dixon is a good, decent man._ Carol swallows the lump in her throat, fighting the urge to smile because she feels like Ezekiel is right. _Granted, he never struck me as a harbinger of joy, but if he can be that for you, then it pleases me very much._ He laughs lightly, and Carol can't help but join in.

 

_Thank you._ Her voice is soft and more than a little shy because she doesn't know if she's confirming things that aren't true, that aren't settled, if she's making overeager assumptions. But the man's well wishes aren't unwelcome and she feels like she owes him some kindness for being so polite and understanding.

 

The elevator rattles to a stop, her stomach jumping a little at the jolt. _I wish you the most pleasant of days, milady,_ Ezekiel says grandly with another bow, opening the doors and stepping out into the hallway – Shiva following him like she's been trained to do just that. _Farewell._

 

Carol watches the two of them for a moment, a sight so curious that she wonders how he manages to maintain this facade out there in the real world.

 

* * *

 

When she pulls open the door and it's Daryl standing in the hallway outside, her heart skips a beat. _Hey,_ he says quietly, sweat pearling on his brows and dust coating his shirt. His eyes flicker down her body for a moment and she doesn't miss it – suddenly feeling a little self conscious about the yoga pants and the old, white shirt she'd put on after work.

 

_Hey,_ she replies with a breathy voice, fingers curling around the side of the door for some support. _I didn't expect to see you tonight._

 

In fact, she did not expect to see him until Sunday. They've only done this twice, but watching TV with him is quickly becoming Carol's favorite part of the week. They're just into season four now, and Daryl is starting to grow more comfortable. He'd been shy about it all at the start, more than she anticipated. But now he seems to have accepted the show's quirks and his passion about discussing theories and plot points with her never fails to make her feel happy.

 

Sometimes, they run into each other during the week. And just three days ago, she had to call him up to her apartment when the faucet in the bathroom started leaking, too.

 

His lips quirk a little but then he almost instantly sighs, his shoulders tensing. _Dale called me. 'bout the stuff in the attic. He was pissed._ Carol's lips part a little, wondering what troubles the stuff up there might have caused. She'd almost forgotten about it all, had just dumped her things outside of her compartment up there like Daryl told her to. Nobody has complained about it yet.

 

_Long story short, I gotta get rid off it all._ Daryl sounds defeated, looking less than thrilled. _Sell it, donate it, whatever._ She offers him a sympathetic look but he doesn't really notice, worrying a loose seam on his shirt instead. _Gotta get them ceilings done first, so I was thinkin' I'd get to work up there next week._ He'd told her about that the other day, about the new wooden planks he'd stored in the courtyard. She liked them a lot when he showed them to her, much lighter than the current ones – always making the hallways look dimly lit and almost gloomy. _That all right?_ he asks, sounding nervous for reasons she doesn't understand. _Ya need the space before that?_

 

She understands the reason for his worries now, and it's sweet of him to be so considerate of her. _Oh, there's no rush,_ she quickly promises, knowing how busy he is and not wanting him to work extra hours clearing out the attic just because he feels pressured. _I didn’t have that much to put up there. Really, take your time._ He nods, looking exhausted. She wishes she could help him unwind somehow – but her thoughts quickly spiral from something like cooking him dinner to something much, much different and she tries to distract herself from her own wicked imagination. _Why won't her family take care of it?_

 

He shrugs, that look of annoyances crossing his features again. _Don't know. Don't care. 's all crap anyway, gonna trash most of it._

 

_What?_ she gasps, eyes wide and he startles a little. _No,_ she exclaims, pressing her hands to her hips and shaking her head. He's either oblivious or allowing himself to let his frustration cloud his judgment – either way, she's not having any of it. _It's not crap,_ she explains. _It's just old._

 

Instead of being reasonable, he just huffs out a laughter at that, and she nearly fumes, narrowing her eyes at him. It only makes him smirk. _Ya wanna keep it all? Would save me a lotta work._

 

_I might like to keep some things,_ she admits, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leaning against the door frame. She'd been almost painfully curious about what trinkets and memories lay hidden up there. Out of respect, she hadn't given in to the urge to look through everything, though. After all, none of it belongs to her. Now, she sees her chance, though, and an idea forms rapidly in her mind. _How about this. I'll help you clear it all out. See what really is trash and what to sell. And maybe keep_ some _things._

 

He listens quietly to her plan, and with every second that passes in silence she feels her excitement grow exponentially. _Sure,_ he finally shrugs. _Wouldn't mind some help._

 

_Great._ The grin she gives him makes him look away, nervously nudging the tip of his boot against her doormat. Now that they have settled this, Carol finds herself desperately scrambling for an excuse to make him stay. This happens every time they see each other – she's always so reluctant to let him go again, something very akin to fear buzzing in her veins like she's sending something good away – the possibility always there that it won't return. _Have you had dinner yet?_ she asks eventually, figuring that food is an innocent enough reason to spend some more time together.

 

_Nah, just finished tearin' down them damn planks upstairs,_ he responds, and Carol thinks she can see a flash of hope on his face.

 

She takes a calming breath, still not quite used to this, nor brave enough to downright ask for what she wants. Not after that one time. Even now, she still struggles to accept that Daryl might be interested in her in a way that goes beyond what they have now.

 

And even if he's not, she's grateful for the time they spend together one way or the other. _Do you... Do you have time now?_ she asks, wondering if maybe she's pushing too hard because he looks like what he really needs is a shower and his bed. He nods, though, burying his hands in his pockets. _I'd love to try one of those hot dogs you had last time._ She's not really in the mood for cooking now and it's a gorgeous day, the evening sun warm and the breeze tender.

 

_At the park?_ Daryl asks, and this time there is no doubt that his eyes look a bit brighter and his shoulders a little less tense.

 

_Yes. Do you want to come?_ It feels so much like asking him out on a date and she's transported back to those innocent days before she allowed Ed into her life when some boy would ask her out for a milkshake or a plate of waffles at the diner. Daryl makes her feel like she felt then. A little daring, a little braver than she is. Light on her feet and glowing from the inside. When he nods, she has to hold herself back from falling into his arms.

 

_We better be careful, though,_ she warns with a grin. _Don't want to give people here too much to talk about._ His eyes widen in horror and it only takes a second for him to start worrying the skin around his thumbnail between his teeth. Squirming on the spot, he looks utterly uncomfortable.

 

_Ya know 'bout that?_ he asks, and she's glad to find out he knew about this, too. That she's not the only one who found out about the rumor concerning them. When she nods, his face falls and he stares down at the ground. _Sorry._

 

That's not the response she's been hoping for. Slowly, she takes a step closer to him. With every day that passes, Daryl reacts less startled to her touch, to her closeness. It feels like a success that she worked hard towards, when in reality it's his own achievement. Either way, she feels proud and grateful to be able to rest her hand against his elbow without him flinching away from her touch. _I don't mind,_ she confesses quietly, eyes fixed on his when he looks up. _If you don't?_

 

He's closer than she anticipated, his breath mingling with her own, and she can almost make out the different shades of blue in his eyes. _I don't,_ he rasps, low and hoarse, and then, just slightly, he lifts his free hand and runs his finger along the bend of her own elbow. It's a fleeting touch, so feather-light that it tickles, but her breath hitches as if he'd kissed the air right out of her lungs.

 

What matters most, though, is what he said. That he doesn't mind people making assumptions about them. She only hopes he doesn't mind making those assumptions come true eventually. Somewhere down the road when they're both ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this feels a bit like a filler chapter - I needed to set up something I've been super excited about ever since I started the story: Carol and Daryl tucked away in the attic, going through old trinkets and stuff and thangs :)
> 
> I also did a little time jump to move things forward, I hope you don't mind.


	16. locked out

_Looks good._ Daryl startles at the sound of Aaron's voice. Drilling one of the boards to the ceiling, he hadn't heard the door to their apartment opening.

 

He shrugs, smoothing his hand over the head of the screw to make sure it's even with the wood. _Yeah, I guess._ The new wood is much lighter than the old planks, and still it looks weathered enough to give the impression it's been here all along since the house was build. Putting the power drill down on the ladder by his feet, Daryl turns to look at Aaron – leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

 

_You do know Gregory is going to complain about the noise when you get to his floor, right?_ A grin accompanies his words because he damn well knows they're true.

 

_I look like I care?_ Daryl replies, snorting at the voice he can already hear in his head, going on and on about noise and disturbances and the dirt, oh my God, the dirt. He stopped giving a damn about what Gregory has to say a long time ago, though.

 

_How's Carol?_ Aaron asks then, and Daryl feels his palms go sweaty.

 

He has half the mind to dismiss the question and tell Aaron that he doesn't know, why should he even know? But that would be a lie and he never liked dishonesty. _Good,_ he mutters instead, looking down at his dusty boots against the step of the ladder, splotches of dry paint like a formation of stars. _I think she's good._

 

_How are_ you _?_

 

Looking up, Daryl is met with Aaron's kind eyes. Usually, this is the one question Daryl replies to the way everybody else does. With a lie. Nobody rarely says that they feel like shit, that they're sad or lonely or pissed. But when he replies this time, he means what he says and his heart soars at the realization.

 

_'m good._ He can't remember having ever felt this good. There's a lightness to each new day that he's unfamiliar with. Before, every hour dragged on, even the quiet ones not spent working. Even the things he enjoyed seemed plain compared to how he sees them now – almost as if he only now learned to see in full color. Like someone pulled a plug from his ears and poured something into his veins that puts him into a constant state of excitement and... joy. It's a word he's never used before, certainly not when he was younger.

 

But it's true now.

 

Aaron seems to know that his answer is genuine, looking pleased. _I'm happy for you,_ he says, nodding his head. _Really._

 

Daryl knows that Aaron means what he says, but he's also aware that people still talk, that people are still making assumptions about him and Carol and that maybe Aaron has the wrong idea about what they are. _It ain't like that,_ he clarifies, brushing his hands against his thighs.

 

Aaron exhales slowly, his smile turning gentler. _I know,_ he admits, but there's something else lingering behind his words that he holds back. _I'm still happy for you._

 

* * *

 

Carol's name on his phone's display makes his heart skip a beat and he picks up on the second ring, kicking shut the door to his apartment behind him. _Hey,_ he greets, eager to hear the sound of her voice. _Ya good?_

 

_Hey,_ Carol sighs. _Not really, no._ His stomach clenches, instantly worried that something is seriously wrong. He doesn't expect her question, though. _Do you have keys for all the apartments?_

 

He chuckles at the odd question, tossing his tool belt to the side. His mind is already scanning through his fridge, wondering if he has some of that microwave chicken curry stuff left. _Why? Ya need to break in somewhere?_ he asks with a laugh, but Carol only sighs in response and within a second, he's back to being worried.

 

There's a short pause that only serves to worry him more. _I need you to... break into my apartment._

 

He can feel his eyebrows creasing, pulling open the fridge to find emptiness staring back at him. Damn. He was so sure he bought another one of those microwave meals the other day. _Ya lock yaself out?_ he asks, biting back a chuckle. It's not the first time someone called him over this – and he still remembers that one time Tara called him at two in the morning when Denise was on a seminar out of town and she'd gone to a party by herself – only to forget her keys there.

 

Until this day, he's pretty sure they kept her keys because she was drunk like a sailor.

 

_Sort of,_ Carol replies, spiking his curiosity. _I'm on the balcony and I can't get back inside. The door is stuck._ Well, that's an image he's not going to forget anytime soon.

 

_Ya kidding, right?_ he asks, shutting the fridge and leaning against the counter.

 

_I wish I was,_ Carol groans, and he can hear the faint sound of traffic and wind in the background. _Could you come up here? I don't want to sleep out here,_ she chuckles, but he can hear she's genuinely afraid to be stuck up there all night.

 

_Could do a whole lotta stargazin',_ he teases, grinning to himself.

 

Carol is quiet for a moment, but when she speaks again his throat goes dry. _I'd still want you to come up here._

 

 

 

The moment he sets foot in her living room, Daryl nearly stumbles over his own feet. She's on the balcony all right. Her phone in her hand, sunglasses moved up to rest in the silver curls of her hair. He's also met with a whole lot of bare skin except for some scraps of dark blue fabric.

 

She definitely didn't mention she locked herself out in just a damn _bikini_ and now his eyes are glued to her long, pale legs and the flat plane of her stomach and the swells of her breasts, the shadows of her collar bones. It takes all his willpower to look up at her face and she looks frustrated beyond belief – and is also just as aware of her state of undress as he is.

 

Clearing his throat, he steps over to the door, glad that the window by its side is cracked open so they can talk without shouting. _Why'd you even shut the door?_ he asks, setting down his tool box and attempting as best as he can not to draw any more attention to the fact she's half naked and just a few feet away from him. From here, he can see the slight reddish hue on her chest, and he wonders just how long she was stuck out there before she called him.

 

She sighs in exasperation, rattling the door handle to proof that it doesn't budge. _Someone was having a barbecue, I didn't want the whole place to smell. Guess I paid the price._

 

She sits down on the edge of her lounge chair then, resting her chin on her palms and her elbows on her knees. Daryl's eyes briefly get drawn to the way the late evening sunlight basks her skin in a rosy glow before he looks away, trying to pry open the door from the inside. _Jesus, that's stuck,_ he mutters, brows creased.

 

_Please tell me you can open it._ Carol sounds positively desperate that she's going to have to spend the night out here. He won't let that happen, though. If all else fails, he'll help her climb in through the window. He's pretty sure she could fit through it.

 

_No stargazing?_ he teases with a smirk, opening his tool box.

 

Her eyes narrow for a moment, full of fire, and then she tilts her head. _Not on my own out here like this, no._ The implications of her words are just like they were earlier on the phone – that maybe, just maybe, she'd want the two of them to stargaze together. Not that that's something he's ever done before.

 

The thought makes him feel a little fuzzy inside, and he goes to work with heated cheeks.

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, the door opens with a sickening crack, but one quick glance tells him that nothing is broken. He'll have to give it a closer inspection eventually, though. _There,_ he says, and Carol rises up from the chair with a relieved smile.

 

_Thank you,_ she breathes, stepping inside, her arm brushing his stomach and they both freeze. Looking down at her, Daryl can almost count the freckles on the bridge of her nose and the high points of her cheeks, and he can feel the warmth of her body seeping through his clothes, making him tremble. Carol swallows, her eyes fixed to his except for one brief second when she allows them to flicker down to his lips and damn it, he has to curl his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out for her.

 

_I...,_ she begins, her voice faltering and she takes a steadying breath. There's a moment when he can see a resolution in her eyes, and he almost brazes himself for the impact – for her lips on his and her slender body in his arms, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared and she takes looks down at her bare feet instead. _I made a casserole earlier. Are you hungry?_

 

He could eat a horse right now, his stomach clenching painfully. All he had for lunch was half a tuna sandwich, and that was hours and hours ago. Usually, he'd jump at any opportunity to spend more time with Carol. But the tension between them is so thick that he can almost hear static in the air, and he's not convinced that staying would be the best idea. _Sure,_ he replies after a moment, too weak and helpless to resist.

 

Carol nods, but she doesn't smile and that makes him wonder if she only offered him dinner to repay the favor of letting her back inside. That's not what he wants at all. For her to feel like she owes him something, but before he can say that, voice his concern, she interrupts his train of thoughts. _I'm just... I'm going to go get dressed,_ she murmurs, her eyes fixed back on his but he can't quite hold back this time, looks down just for a second and she's so close – he hasn't been this close to someone in so long and it's so hard not to cross the miniscule distance between them and trail his finger over her collarbones and down between her breasts, maybe follow the straight line down to her belly button, let his hand slip around her waist.

 

Looking back up at her, he thinks he can see the same desire in her eyes, and the way she gravitates towards him just a little bit makes him wonder if maybe she really, truly wants this just as much as him.

 

This can't happen now, though. Even if they both want it. He's not ready, and he's pretty sure she isn't either. For all her teasing remarks, she's also cautious, keeps a distance in many ways. _Yeah,_ he croaks, taking a step back until his back hits the glass door of the balcony.

 

Carol quickly takes a few steps back, too, turning her back to him and heading towards the hallway and this feels wrong. Feels too tense. _Carol?_ he calls after her, and she turns almost instantly, waiting for him to speak. Only now, he's so nervous that he feels he'll never get the words out. _We could, ya know... sit outside._ She's patient with him, doesn't laugh or smirk or push for a quicker answer. _Sun's gonna go down soon._

 

He can't quite believe he's asking her to go fucking stargazing with him – feels like he's stuck in a goddamn romance novel and if Merle could hear him now he'd have a thing or two to say. Ain't him. Ain't what he does or what Dixons do but to hell with all that. It puts a smile on Carol's face and ain't like he gives a crap about the stars. He just wants to spend a little more time with her. He'd watch the damn shopping channel if that's what she wanted and he'd bet his right arm he'd have a good time.

 

_I'd like that._

 

 

 

_I don't know a single constellation up there,_ Carol murmurs, leaning back into her chair and looking up at the night sky. Her skim is almost translucent in the moonlight, her hair shining like someone scattered diamonds into the silver curls.

 

Struggling to tear his eyes away from her, Daryl sets his empty plate down on the table in front of them. She's a damn good cook and he'd ask for a third serving if it didn't seem rude to him. Instead, he leans back, too, the chairs more comfortable than his ratty old couch.

 

_Only know a few,_ he admits, watching a plane passing by up there, so slow and small from down here.

 

There's faint music coming from somewhere nearby, a gentle tune that might be orchestral, but he can't tell well enough. There are only a handful of cars passing by, and it all seems so peaceful that he wants to freeze the moment.

 

_Show me one?_ Carol asks, and when he turns his head he finds she has done the same. Her eyes are hazy, the corner of her lips curled up – almost sleepy in a way and he never felt more confident than he does know, knowing she trusts him enough to be so vulnerable around him.

 

Looking back up at the sky, he scans the stars, the city lights making it a bit harder to point them out. _There's Phoenix,_ he says, pointing up at the constellation. It used to be his favorite as a kid, something about the myth of a bird burning to ash only to be reborn fascinating him when he was younger.

 

_Where?_ she asks, following the line of his finger with her eyes. He watches her profile for a moment, barely more than a silhouette, an idea forming quickly in his mind. But it's bold and forward and maybe too much, but he wants to try.

 

_There,_ he whispers, and then he reaches for her hand before he can over-think it. It's soft and delicate under his own. His skin prickles where he can feel her eyes on him but he's not brave enough to meet her gaze. Instead, he lifts their joined hands, leans a little closer to her and points up to the sky.

 

He explains it to her quietly, the position of each star although he has long forgotten the names. Only when he's done does he turn to look at her.

 

_I see it,_ she breathes, the moon reflecting in her eyes.

 

Slowly, he lowers their hands until they meet the armrest of his chair, and Carol doesn't hesitate a second to turn her palm around, his fingers falling into place between hers like a key into a lock. Her skin is so soft against his calloused one, and the way her thumb feathers lightly back and forth against he side of his finger makes him dizzy.

 

_Daryl..._ His name is a shuddering whisper on her lips and he looks at her almost fearfully. What they have is so delicate, he's afraid of breaking it every minute of every day. He ain't got no experience to guide him, just his instinct and whether or not that can be trusted is still up in the air.

 

Carol's eyes are fixed on their joined hands, and he takes it as a good sign that she hasn't pulled away yet. She does, however, look terribly somber, and the minute that passes between them in silence weighs heavily on his heart.

 

_There's something you need to know,_ she confesses then with a quiet voice, and he braces himself for the secret he knew she was carrying all along. _I... I was married. Before._ He's not shocked by her words, had considered the possibility before. A woman like her... Someone must have been lucky enough to share her life before. But what she says next sends a chill down his spine. _And it wasn't- he wasn't..._ She clearly struggles, and her finger has stopped moving against his. Instead, her body is tense and her eyes avoiding his. It's like she's a second away from bolting, and she's come so far that he won't allow that to happen.

 

_Hey, y'ain't gotta talk 'bout nothin' y'ain't ready for,_ he reassures her, giving her hand a light squeeze that makes her sigh ever so softly. _We ain't gotta do nothin', neither,_ he adds more quietly, afraid to even just utter the possibility of it. Of more.

 

He's not stupid. He understands what she's not saying. Images of his father flash in his mind, his mother's desperate screams echoing in there and his heart breaks at the thought that Carol had to suffer the same fate. Anger and sorrow alike fill his veins like lead, and he feels it all coiling in the pit of his stomach, making him nauseous.

 

_I'm not sure what I'm ready for,_ Carol admits quietly, tears glistening in her eyes. But she squeezes his hand in return, even as her bottom lip begins to quiver.

 

A part of him wants to tell her that he's not sure, either. That he carries similar scars, both on his skin and in his soul. But that is one thing he knows for sure he isn't ready for – even now. _I can leave, if ya wanna,_ he offers instead,needing more than anything for her to understand he'd never push her. _Or we could sit here for a bit longer._

 

As tenderly as he can, more tender than he knew he could be, he traces the palm of her hand with his fingertip. Slow and mindful and when she whispers _stay_ , he leans back against the chair and turns his head back up to the stars.

 

She curls her fingers around his again, making no move to separate and if this is all she'll ever be ready to give, then it's more than he's ever had in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse has been less than cooperative these past few days, but I hope this chapter doesn't read chunky or weird because of that. I hope you enjoyed some stargazing :)


	17. bang

_I told him about Ed._ Carol twirls her glass of iced tea in her hand, water pearling around the rim. Her eyes are fixed on her fingers curled around the glass, balanced on her knees. _The other day._

 

_Really?_ Lori sounds surprised, setting down her own glass and from her periphery, Carol can see her friend turning to face her. The sofa dips a little, giving her the jolt she needs to look up.

 

_Well, I told him I was married,_ she clarifies, having no intention of making herself sound braver than she was. _I couldn't... I didn't really say anything else._ It had cost her everything to confess just that to Daryl, afraid of how he might react just as much as of the questions he might ask. There'd been no need to worry in the end, and she should have known that. But the fear that's settled so deep in the marrow of her bones isn't easily shaken. _But I think he understood that there's more to it,_ she adds somberly, sighing softly to herself.

 

Lori offers her a kind, reassuring but thin-lipped smile, briefly resting her hand on her arm. _That's a big step. I'm proud of you._

 

The words make Carol look away again, not ready to accept them, to let them in. _I'm scared, Lori,_ she admits instead, just a breathy whisper and she can feel tears prickling in her eyes that she furiously blinks away.

 

_Of what?_ Lori asks softly, not pressing too much but offering her ear, and Carol exhales slowly, trying to find the words to express the turmoil she feels inside. Setting down her own glass, she turns to Lori, trying to force a smile even as a single tear spills over and trails down her cheek.

 

_Of how much I... want him,_ she tries to explain, cringing at the words the second she says them and Lori raises her brows just slightly. _Not like that,_ Carol chuckles half-heartedly, and Lori allows herself to grin a little, tilting her head. _Well... like that, too,_ Carol admits a little shyly, looking down at her lap as she says it. This isn't something she's eager to discuss, though. _But... I really like him._ The words feel foreign on her tongue, are light and heavy at the same time because she should feel good about this and instead it worries her more with every day that passes. _More than I ever- I'm not sure I can ever really_ be _with anyone again, you know?_

 

It's not a new fear. After she left Ed, after the divorce was settled, that fear had slowly crept its way into her soul. Back then, she had been convinced she'd never _want_ to be with anyone again, had sworn to never give into her old desires of not being alone. But as time passed, she started to long for the same things she longed for before Ed came into her life. Those same hopes and dreams that she was so sure he'd shattered forever.

 

To make them a reality, though – that's something she's not sure she still has enough strength and courage for.

 

Lori sighs, reaching across to take Carol's hand in a soft grasp. _Take your time. He seems like a patient guy._

 

He is so patient already, so understanding, so afraid himself for reasons he's not yet ready to share with her. But there must be limits to even that, and if she waits too long, Carol is afraid her fear will only grow. _What if I never-_

 

_You're strong, sweetie,_ Lori interrupts her, giving her hand a squeeze and maintaining the pressure. _You beat him. You're free. You did that all on your own._ Carol shudders at the words, more praise that she might never learn to accept. _You can beat this, too._ Lori's smile alone fills Carol with more reassurance than her words.

 

_You think so?_ she asks breathlessly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

 

Lori nods, her eyes full of kindness. _I know._

 

With a shuddering breath, Carol nods, fighting not to allow the hissing words of doubt in her head to keep her from accepting this. _Thank you, Lori,_ she whispers, wiping the tears from her cheeks. _For everything._ It's clear that Lori is trying to brush off her efforts to help Carol, but she doesn't give her a chance to do that – needs to say this and say it loud and clear. _For helping me get this place. It's perf-_

 

Carol's words are interrupted by a loud bang, so bone-chilling that she thinks for a second that someone fired a gun. A scream of shock tears from hers and Lori's throat, heart skipping a beat and her body jolting on the couch.

 

_What the hell!_ Lori gasps, both of them struggling to suck in much needed air, and it only takes them a second to figure out what the source of the bang was. The room is bathed in semi-darkness, and the most miniscule shards of glass are scattered all over the room, the busted light bulb dangling uselessly from the ceiling.

 

Carol exhales, her hands still trembling. _Are you okay? s_ he gasps, eyes scanning the coffee table that's littered in shards so small they look like stardust.

 

_Yeah, I'm fine,_ Lori says with a nod, pressing a hand to her chest where her heart undoubtedly beats just as hard as Carol's. _What just happened?_

 

_I don't know,_ Carol wonders, staring at what's left of the light bulb in confusion. A series of pounds on the front door of the apartment jolts both women again, and their heads whip in the direction of the hallway.

 

_Carol?_ It's Daryl’s voice calling her name, and only now does she remember he'd been working on the ceiling boards on her floor all day. _Y'all right in there?_

 

Carol feels some tension easing from her body, and Lori smirks at her. _Speak of the devil,_ she quips, and Carol rolls her eyes as she stands up from the couch, hearing the sickening crunch of glass beneath the soles of her shoes. This isn't good for the hardwood floors at all.

 

_Shut up,_ she hisses, hurrying to the door and trying to avoid the large bulk of the mess. But the shards flew absolutely _everywhere_. With a sigh, she pulls open the front door, her eyes meeting Daryl’s raised fist as he was about to knock again. He drops it quickly, looking worried. _Hey,_ Carol greets him, still a little out of breath and her skin raw as adrenaline throbs in her veins.

 

_I heard a bang an' screamin', y'all right?_ he asks, and his gaze locks on her face for a moment too long – telling her silently that he can see the slight redness in her eyes and the shimmering tear trails down her cheeks.

 

_Yes,_ she reassures him, adding a smile to make sure he believes it, although she knows he's not easily fooled. _The light bulb just... blew up,_ she explains, throwing her hands in the air in utter confusion.

 

Daryl's eyes widen a little. _Seriously?_ She nods in confirmation. _That ain't good. Lemme take a look at that._ Carol has half the mind to tell him not to bother with it, but she's a little worried about the state of the electric lines now, and so she ignores the sight of the hallway – covered in boards and nails and sawdust, and steps aside to let him in. He only takes a few steps into the apartment when Lori appears in the doorway, and Daryl freezes in his tracks. _Oh. Hey._

 

_Hey, Daryl,_ Lori greets him, sounding way too enthusiastic and Carol tenses, not quite ready for this confrontation. But Lori quickly turns to address her, a glint in her eyes more than evident and spreading all the way down to the grin on her lips. _I just remembered I need to pick up... something for Carl. I'm gonna go. Call me later?_ she asks, resting a hand on Carol's shoulder and she barely has time to nod before Lori slips out of the front door, pushing it shut behind herself.

 

It shuts with a thud, leaving the two of them alone in her hallway - and even though that's how it usually is between them, it suddenly feels a little awkward. _She ain't gotta leave,_ Daryl mutters, and Carol huffs out a laughter at that.

 

_Try telling her that._ He smirks in response, maybe understanding a little of what just happened, and then turns away to inspects the scene of the crime.

 

He has barely set a foot in the living room when he groans, shards of glass already crunching beneath his heavy boots. _Shit, that's a mess._

 

Carol sighs, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms in front of her chest. _I think this place is cursed,_ she jokes, but there's a small part of her that almost wants to believe it considering every random thing that already acted up since she moved in – none of it caused by her.

 

Daryl snorts, turning his head to look at her – his smirk makes the muscles in her abdomen clench and her heart flutter, but she pushes those thoughts away. _One last gift from the old witch,_ he says, earning himself an eye roll from her that only makes him smirk more.

 

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Daryl has checked to make sure everything is fine, blamed the light bulb for the explosion and has replaced it with a new one. Carol trusts his opinion, but she's still a little weary, looking up at the glowing bulb every now and then.

 

_You really don't have to help me clean this up,_ she says, both of them kneeling on the floor and cleaning up the seemingly infinite amount of shards that have found their way into every corner of her living room. She'd even dusted a few off the couch, wondering if she has them on herself as well. Maybe a shower wouldn't be the worst idea.

 

_Don't mind,_ Daryl reassures her as he always does, wiping the coffee table clean.

 

Carol watches him for a moment, her heart so full with gratitude and she remembers her conversation with Lori, the fear that's ever present and right now is one of these moments that she's nearly overwhelmed by the prospect of never being able to allow more than this. _You've got so many other things to do._

 

_Got time,_ he says, leaning back against the side of the couch when he's done with the table. _You free on Saturday?_ His question is straight forward but there's a hint of a blush on his cheeks and his head tilts downwards for a moment, signs of nervousness she's grown so fond of over the last few weeks.

 

Her first instinct is to shout yes, but then she reins herself in, clearing her throat to stop herself from blurting out the wrong thing. _In the afternoon, yes,_ she replies, silently cursing her work schedule.

 

Daryl nods, his face contorting as if he's trying to bite back a smile. _Thought we could get started up in the attic,_ he explains, pointing up at the ceiling and Carol's stomach flutters in excitement. It's not just the attic and all the potential treasures to be found there but the prospect of spending more time with Daryl is just as tempting.

 

_Good idea,_ she breathes, about to tell him her ideas on how to work through the piles of trinkets without loosing their minds when a loud moan tears through the silent room. _Oh no,_ she groans, pressing her palm against her forehead. The single moan is followed by another and another, deeper and louder and she's never felt this much second-hand-embarrassment in her entire life.

 

Daryl looks startled for a moment but then he snorts. _Guess they're back,_ he mutters, nodding towards the wall that separates her apartment from Abraham and Rosita's.

 

_I heard them all night,_ Carol tells him, still feeling the fatigue in her bones from tossing and turning all night, trying not to listen to the couple next door having sex over and over and over at a noise level that made her blush into her pillow. _I don't even know how they do that,_ she chuckles, and Daryl grins – the blush on his cheeks, however, not going unnoticed by her. _All night, I swear._

 

The sound of a woman's cry fills the room and Carol looks down at the floor, feeling like she's trapped in a bad joke. _Got some skills,_ Daryl jokes.

 

_I never want to meet them, I couldn't look them in the eye,_ Carol admits. She's not prude by any means, but she also has no desire at all to be an involuntary part of someone else's sex lives. And to hear them moan and groan and curse all night – well, that's more than she's comfortable with.

 

Daryl chuckles, toying with a loose seam on his jeans. _They're all right. You'll get used to it._ There's a short pause that's filled with a deep voice hollering a rather colorful curse word that forces a giggle from Carol. _Put on Game of Thrones,_ he suggests then, and Carol looks up at him with wide eyes. _Give 'em a show._

 

_Daryl!_ she hisses, taken aback by his crassness when just a few weeks ago, he'd sat next to her squirming on the couch as they watched that very show – blushing like a virgin schoolboy. He's laughing now, though and it's too contagious not to join – and within half a minute they're drowning out the moans from next door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down the other day and roughly outlined the rest of this story. If all goes according to my plan, then there are 18 more chapters of this coming your way :)
> 
> The next chapter should be up this weekend and we're finally heading up into the attic.


	18. treasure hunters

_Hey, little brother._ Daryl takes a deep, calming breath, already regretting having picked up the phone at all. The only reason he did was because Merle has called him at least twice a week for the past month and he'd started to worry something might be seriously wrong this time. More wrong than usual.

 

_What'ya want?_ he asks gruffly, shutting his tool box. He just finished putting up the last ceiling panels on the ground floor, and he's proud of himself for finishing the task, and for the result to look pretty damn good, too. His brother's call has dampened his spirit somewhat.

 

_Is that any way ta greet ya brother?_ Merle replies, and Daryl can hear his familiar sly grin even through the phone. _Hard to get a hold o' ya lately. Y'all high and mighty now?_ Merle always had an odd way of showing pride or love, or any sort of affection. Daryl wonders sometimes if Merle feels either of those things for him now – now that he mostly cut ties with him and moved on, actually did something with his life. Sometimes, especially during the first few months after Daryl moved out of the trailer they shared, Merle had seemed envious, had unleashed some of his anger at Daryl in a way that hurt more than a fist fight ever could.

 

Maybe watching his little brother break free left a sour taste in his mouth after all these years spent trying to shape Daryl into what he wanted him to be – even if he did it out of a brotherly sense of love sometimes.

 

_Been busy,_ he offers as an explanation. He _had_ been, but not busy enough to not pick up the phone or return a call at some point. But he doesn't really want to explain to his brother why he'd rather not talk to him. _What'ya want?_ he repeats, knowing all too well that Merle always has an agenda. He never calls for no reason. Money. A favor. Sometimes both, like those two times he called to ask him to post his bail.

 

He did that the first time. And he regrets it to this day.

 

_Maybe I just wanna hear how ya doin',_ Merle replies, the rush of traffic in the background making it hard to understand him. _Ain't seen you in ages._ It's been forever, that much is true. Last time Daryl saw Merle in person was last year when he'd been released form jail. Again. Daryl had picked him up, had taken him to get some food, paid for it. Had tried to talk his brother into finally seeing sense. Going to rehab. Get a job. Merle had half-heartedly agreed to try and turn his life around, but even then Daryl could see there was no sincerity to it.

 

The last thing his brother wants is help in fixing something he's convinced isn't broken.

 

_Cut the crap, Merle,_ he spits, folding together the ladder he'd used. He has no patience for his brother's attempts at pretending he isn't calling because he fucked up again.

 

Merle groans on the other end of the line, and he can easily picture him rolling his eyes. _All right, all right,_ he admits, dropping the facade and making a short pause that does nothing but add to Daryl’s annoyance. He knows what's coming. _Got myself into some trouble upstate,_ Merle confirms, but it's not so much the usual trouble that catches Daryl’s attention but rather his location.

 

_The hell ya doin' up there?_ he asks. Last he knew, his brother lived with an old friend of his a few towns away – that friend and him having shared a cell once upon a time. Not the best company, but then again, it doesn't matter what company his brother keeps.

 

_Long story, better if ya don't know too much about it,_ Merle explains, not exactly making a point in his favor. Daryl can easily fill in the blanks even without his brother telling him what's up. Drugs, debt, hookers, mingling with the wrong crowd. It's always the same. _Anyway, I could use some-_

 

_I ain't givin' ya money,_ he spits determinedly, grabbing his tool box and heading down to the basement to store it away before heading up to meet with Carol. That thought alone eases some of his tension. But it's not quite enough to erase it entirely.

 

He swore to himself to never give his brother even a buck. Ever again. He'll only use to for shady business like this or to buy himself more drugs. Never for what he should use it for, and after years of trying to help him out, Daryl has come to the painful conclusion that he can't help. That he'll have to let his brother make his own path – only there's not a single day he wakes up not wondering about whether or not this is the day the cops call him to tell him Merle overdosed. Got shot. Stabbed. Anything.

 

_It wouldn't be much, man,_ Merle pleads, or as close to that as he can get. But he could sing him a song and swear to the fucking moon and back he'll make better choices and Daryl wouldn't budge. Not anymore. He has worked hard to make something of himself, to have the life he has today. A good job, a decent place to stay, respect from others and people he cares about. Everything he never dreamed of having when he was younger. _Deserve a second chance, don't I?_

 

Daryl sets the tool box down in the boiler room with a loud thud, fingers curling around the handle in a white-knuckled grasp. _I gave you a second chance. More than once._ It doesn't matter how convinced he is that he's doing the right thing – it still feels wrong. Denying Merle his help when he's the only actual family he has left in the world. But Daryl learned over time to let go for his own sake. _Just leave me be, man. Handle ya own shit._

 

He hangs up with a heavy feeling in his heart, and he clutches the warm phone to his chest for a minute afterward, staring ahead at the chipping plaster on the wall. Listening to the silence.

 

* * *

 

_I thought we'd make three piles,_ Carol explains. She sounds like she put more than a little thought into this, and the way she presses her hands against her hips only puts more emphasis on her determination. _One for trash, one for things we can donate or sell and one for me,_ she continues, pointing vaguely at the empty space in between the compartments. _Or you,_ she adds quickly, smiling a little shyly. _I mean, maybe you want to keep something, too._

 

He snorts, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans. _I doubt it. Sounds all right, though._ He takes in the amount of trinkets, furniture, boxes and crap that the old witch compiled over the years, feeling dread and exhaustion already creeping into his bones. It doesn't help that the day's heat has made itself cozy up here, sweat pearling on his brows already and they haven't even lifted a finger yet. _Ain't no way we're wading through all this in one day, though,_ he sighs with a shake of his head.

 

The words don't seem to have much of an impact on Carol. She just smiles and shrugs, her face beaming with excitement. _I don't mind._

 

There's a flicker of hope inside of him that she's not just excited about digging through all the trinkets stacked up in there, but maybe also a little because they're spending time together. It's what drove him up here, what made him forgot almost entirely about his conversation with Merle. She's the reason he feels almost excited to be here.

 

_Just don't go keepin' everything,_ he says with a grin, and Carol looks a little sheepishly right back at him.

 

_I'll try,_ she promises, rubbing her hands together. _How about we start with everything that's laying around?_ He tries to listen and pay attention, but something about the way the sunlight catches in her silver hair is all too distracting. _We can work our way trough the boxes and the dresser some other time. Daryl?_ He startles at the sound of his name, tears his eyes away from her and clears his throat. _Are you okay?_ she asks, suddenly sounding genuinely concerned and he really needs to get himself under control. Ain't like this is the first time he sees her. Still, every day he discovers something new about her. The way her lips turn a certain shade of pink after she drinks juice. The way her dilated pupils make his chest flutter when it's dark. How her fingers sometimes drum against her thighs. It's all new, and he can't seem to get his fill.

 

_'m fine,_ he reassures her, pressing the words out even though his throat feels dry. _Loose stuff sounds good._ He looks back at her then, figuring that looking away will only make him appear more guilty. Her brows are creased and her eyes full of concern.

 

_We don't have to do this today._ The softness of her voice nearly makes him sigh, sweet as honey and full of a tenderness he never knew could exist in a person.

 

_I wanna do it today,_ he says quickly, cursing himself for making her doubt him. He has been looking forward to this all week, to spend a few blessed hours tucked away up here with her. _'s fine. Really._

 

Putting on his best smile, he waits for her to believe him. When she does, she gives him a slight nod, but her eyes linger as if to uncover the truth behind the mask he put up. But the real truth is that he can't hide from her – even if he wanted to.

 

 

 

Half an hour later, Daryl feels like he's standing knee-deep in decade-old trash. Stacks of magazines and newspapers with the ink long faded land on the trash pile, a few vases and bowls make it to the donation pile, and so far Carol has piled up a copper watering can, a green, pattered rug that smells like decay and a pale blue cake stand for herself.

 

But there is so much more. Records, old kitchen appliances, scattered Christmas decorations – it never ends and they've only just scratched the surface. There are still at least half a dozen big cardboard boxes, a massive chest of drawers, suitcases and shoe boxes and Daryl doubts that any of those things are empty.

 

_I wonder what she did with this,_ Carol muses, holding up the massive bird cage. It looks like something out of some fancy, old movie.

 

Daryl eyes it with suspicion, wiping dust off a stack of audio cassettes. _Probably had a raven in there,_ he suggests, and it earns him a laugh that makes him blush because _he_ did that. It's something she allows him – the power to make her laugh, to make her blush and it makes him feel like he's a king or something. Luckiest son of a bitch on this planet for sure.

 

In the end, the bird cage goes on the donation pile, with Carol insisting they can sell it online.

 

 

 

He never would have guessed the old witch was such a big fan of music, but there are at least fifty vinyl records stacked up on top of the dresser, and most of them date back to the 40s and 50s. Maybe they belonged to her husband, he wonders. He died at least twenty years ago, or so Dale told him once.

 

_Oh my God. Look at these,_ Carol gasps, and he spins around so quickly that he nearly knocks over the world's ugliest floor lamp. Carol is kneeling on the ground next to a massive basket full of fabric. Silk, cotton, velvet, cord. Some in plain colors, others patterned or with intricate embroidery. There's an ancient looking, heavy sewing machine behind the basket, black and heavy-looking with golden letters that have faded over the decades. But it's neither of those things that has captured Carol's attention. It's a stack of books. Bound in weathered green and red leather. _Mrs. Greene is going to faint when she sees these,_ she says all dream-like, tracing her fingers along the spines and delicate opening one.

 

_Them books?_ he asks, not sure how exciting those could be. Then again, Carol works at a book store so she would know. And judging by the sheer elation and awe on her face, this must be something special.

 

_Yes, look,_ she stands and he slowly walks over to her, a few records still in his hands. _This one looks like it was printed in the 20s._

 

It seems odd to look at something so old, and even though he doesn't quite share Carol's excitement, it does make him turn and look around the space with a little more respect than he did before.

 

 

 

_How can_ one _person have so much crap?_ Daryl groans, sinking down onto the ground and leaning against a tall, wooden pillar. They've been up here for hours, long enough for sunlight to become sparse, and with the lack of light, it's becoming harder to wade through the still seemingly endless amount of odds and ends.

 

Carol rolls her eyes, carefully setting two crystal cut wine glasses down on the floor next to her impressive pile. _It's not crap,_ she lectures him, but then she immediately yawns, long and deep and ending in a laugh because he looks at her with raised brows. With a grin, she sits down next to him, her shoulder briefly brushing his and sending a tremor through his body.

 

_Ya really think someone's gonna want all that?_ he asks, pointing at the pile of things to donate or sell, which is by far the largest one. Taking care of finding people who want to take all that will be a full time job.

 

_Not everyone is as unappreciative as you,_ Carol quips, ever so softly nudging her elbow into his shoulder. With a sigh, she leans her head back against the pillar, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Her skin glistens with sweat, and there's dust and cobwebs on her clothes – but she never looked prettier. _I'm starving,_ she groans, pressing her hand to her stomach and he can only nod in agreement, feeling absolutely starved. _How about we call it a day? I could make us some dinner._

 

His mouth waters instantly at the thought of a home-cooked meal, especially when Carol is the one to make it. But he also immediately feels bad. It's not her job to feed him, to take care of him the way she does. It seems to come naturally to her, though. Like a second nature.

 

He wishes he could cook for her instead, take care of her for a change. But considering how good of a cook she is, anything he might put together would be inadequate. Plus, he's not exactly prepared to host a dinner tonight. _Y'ain't gotta,_ he murmurs, needing her to understand he's not in this – whatever _this_ is – for favors like food.

 

But Carol only smiles, shifting a little until her shoulder meets his – deliberately this time. _I want to. You can help me,_ she offers, maybe sensing his hesitation, and he can't resist her.

 

_'kay._

 

She looks pleased, scanning the space for a moment. It looks like they didn't work at all, really. There's barely a difference to how it was before except nothing is randomly laying around anymore. Then, something shifts in her gaze and she grins. _Want to try out these?_ she asks, pointing at the two wine glasses.

 

He nearly chokes on his spit, but he keeps himself in check. _Better not,_ he chuckles, and Carol joins in with the slightest flush on her cheeks and from this distance, he can see the way it stretches down over her collarbones.

 

 

 

They do try them out later, over two steaming plates of parmesan chicken. But they stay clear of the wine, both glancing a little nervously at each other when Carol pours them grape juice instead and they toast the day's work.

 

He leaves an hour later, tired to the bone but with light step, already eager to return tomorrow morning for a late breakfast that had been Carol's idea. He'll make an early trip to the store. Bring her something. Something special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed their first trip to the attic :) For some visuals, this is the [watering can](http://thumbs4.ebaystatic.com/d/l225/m/mooMDkQXbnjBAax4g0l_Fqg.jpg), [rug](https://www.carpetvista.com/carpet/colored-vintage?artno=BHKZO36), [cake stand](https://img0.etsystatic.com/011/0/5163741/il_340x270.459951348_jbqf.jpg) and [wine glasses](https://cdn-img-0.wanelo.com/p/809/1b8/968/d4697391da75b16aef0a40b/x354-q80.jpg) Carol picked for herself. Among other things ;) And this is the [bird cage](http://a5.images.mywebroom.com/image/upload/c_fit,d_default_image_all.png,h_540,w_540/v1394137289/944-items_design-small-antique-style-brass-bird-cage-bird-cages-gold-vintage--metal-small-antique-style-brass-bird-ca-image_name_selection-birdcage-2.jpg) that will surely find a buyer.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback, it makes me so happy and really motivates me - have a great weekend :)


	19. elise and reginald

Her heart flutters in a familiar but still breathtaking way when she opens the door. Daryl stands there in a dark blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy and a large paper bag in his hand. _Morning,_ she greets with a smile. From the moment she opened her eyes this morning she's been filled with excitement, looking forward to a nice breakfast with Daryl and then to head up into the attic again.

 

_Hey,_ he replies, holding out the paper bag until she takes it from him with furrowed brows.

 

_What's all this?_ she asks, unwrapping the top of the bag to glimpse inside.

 

_Figured 's my turn ta... ya know... handle the food for once,_ Daryl stutters, and one glance is enough to see how nervous he is about this, maybe even a little embarrassed when he has no reason to be.

 

_You didn't have to-,_ she starts, but then a gasp escapes her. _Oh my God. Daryl!_ She recognizes the emblem on the paper bag now – it's from the little bakery down on Cherokee Lane, and it's filled with almost every treat on the menu.

 

There are chocolate and almond croissants, a few plastic containers with slices of strawberry and coconut pie, three small fruit tartlets, a box of six different cupcakes in all sots of colors and flavors, half a cinnamon pull-apart bread. Her mouth waters instantly, and all thoughts of a quick breakfast of pancakes and bacon are quickly forgotten.

 

_Ya like any o' that?_ Daryl asks insecurely, shifting his weight on her doormat. _Wasn't sure so I got-_

 

_Like?_ She repeats in disbelief, feeling as if she's holding the Holy Grail in her hands.  _Daryl, you're the best,_ she breathes before she can stop herself, and the words lead into a silence that's heavy. His head is tilted down but he's looking at her all curious and afraid, and she considers pretending she never said that for a moment.  _Really,_ she says instead, quiet and gentle because she knows he won't believe it. 

 

Giving him a moment of respite, she looks back into the bag, gasping when she spots a smaller bag that she recognizes because she got one of those before – she knows exactly what's wrapped in there. _There's macaroons, too?_ Surely, she must have hearts in her eyes by now, and she has to stop herself from leaping across the doorstep and curling her arms around Daryl's neck.

 

He just shrugs. _Don't even know what that is. Looked good._ She wonders how early he must've gotten up to head to the always busy bakery on a Sunday morning, and how long it took him to decide what to get. It seems like he surrendered at some point and got a bit of everything. Way more than the two of them can eat in one sitting.

 

_Heaven,_ she explains, reaching out to softly rest her fingertips against his wrist. _That's what they are. Come on._ She tugs on his arm just for a second and with a light touch before heading into the kitchen.

 

 

 

They spend over an hour soaking up the morning sun on her balcony, drinking steaming coffee and working their way through cupcakes and pies, pastries and macaroons, humming and sighing and laughing when a bit of powdered sugar finds its way to her upper lip.

 

When Daryl reaches across to brush it away with the pad of his thumb, it sends a jolt down her spine that's so intense that she can't control the shudder of her body.

 

He doesn't miss it, but doesn't linger, either. Tears his suddenly darker eyes away and digs into a piece of pie instead.

 

 

 

Even when they head up into the attic half an hour later, she can still feel the warmth of his touch.

 

* * *

 

_Should've known there'd be creepy dolls up here,_ Daryl snorts, and Carol looks up from the drawer full of silver cutlery she's skimming through to find Daryl perched over a small cardboard box – a delicate doll with a pink, puffy dress in his hands.

 

_Don't toss those,_ she warns him, eying the doll which seems to be in good shape. _They might be porcelain._

 

Daryl's brows nearly disappear under his bangs, and her fingers twitch against a heavy silver spoon with the urge to tuck the strands behind his ear. _Creepy 's what they are,_ he mutters.

 

Carol bites back a smile. _I know,_ she admits, having no intention of keeping one for herself. _Better don't touch them at all,_ she warns him. He's still for a moment, then unceremoniously tosses the doll back into the box.

 

Shaking her head, Carol gathers all the cutlery from the drawer, placing it carefully into one of the empty cardboard boxes. Surely, they'll find someone to pay for these once they're clean and shiny again.

 

When she pulls open the next drawer, Carol expects to find more gold-trimmed plates or a floral tea set. Instead, tucked away behind an old sewing kit, knitting needles and a few balls of wool, she finds a small, wooden box. It's heavy with a golden clasp and floral pattern, and she sets it down carefully on top of the chest of drawers next to a cardboard box they're yet to look though and the box of things she's salvaged from the drawers for sale. _Oh, this is pretty,_ she explains, trailing her finger along the sharp edge of the box.

 

Daryl, clearly frustrated to have chosen the box with the dolls and moth-eaten teddy bears, walks over to her. _What's in it?_ he asks, leaning his hips against the dresser and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 

She tries to open the small clasp but years of being hidden in a drawer haven't been kind. _It's stuck. Wait..._ With a little brute force, she manages to open it. What she finds inside isn't really what she expected. _Letters,_ she says quietly, picking up one from a stack of at least two dozen. The paper is thin and worn and the ink beginning to fade. _These look really old._

 

Daryl leans over enough to get a glimpse – also enough to appear in her periphery and she can feel the skin of her neck prickling in response. Carefully, she unfolds one letter, the date in the upper right corner confirming her suspicion.

 

_September 1941,_ she reads, scanning the first few lines of the letter. The handwriting is neat, clearly outdated. _These must be from her husband,_ she wonders out loud, beginning to read the letter. _My dearest Elise – is that her name?_ she asks Daryl, and he just nods in response. Taking a deep breath, she continues to read. _How I long to see you again, to hold you in my arms again. Life without you is cold and miserable. I crave the tenderness of your kiss and the fire of your embrace – oh God,_ she ends, clearing her throat and chuckling a little. _This is taking a turn._ Daryl looks a little embarrassed himself. Turning to the second page of the letter, Carol finds a signature. _It's signed with Forever yours, Reginald._

 

_That ain't her husband,_ Daryl says, and when she looks at him his forehead is creased.

 

_What?_

 

_Her husband's name was George,_ he explains. _Saw it on the contract._

 

_Oh._ Carol stares down at the letters in her hands, takes in the words of love and adoration that bleed into every page. _Maybe they were sweethearts before she got married to her husband?_ she suggests, trying to imagine how something this pure could not have lead to more.

 

Daryl shakes his head. _Original contract's from 1940. 's when she an' her husband moved in._

 

_Oh,_ Carol exclaims, and suddenly the letter feels much heavier than before. _Elise, what were you up to?_ she chuckles, shaking her head. Her curiosity is sparked now, and after setting aside the letter, she skims through some of the others. There's a necklace in the box, as well. A golden chain with a heart pendant, a red, heart-shaped jewel in the center of it making it shine in the dusty sunlight.

 

She picks a letter with an earlier date, and Daryl grins down at her. _Ya just gonna keep readin'?_ he asks, and she rolls her eyes at the pointless question.

 

_Of course,_ she replies, unfolding the letter. _I want to know who Reginald is. Look._ She points at the date. July 1939. When she begins to read, Daryl listens intently. _Your decision leaves me a broken man. How many nights have I dreamed of the life we could build together? How many hours spent praying that you love me as deeply as I love you? Now, all I am left to hope for is that you will find peace and happiness in your marriage, that your heart will be full and your days bright. It is my own heart's desire for you to find happiness. I so wished you would find it with me. Oh,_ Carol ends, and even Daryl looks a little somber. _Sounds like she left him for George._

 

He nods, skimming through some of the letters himself as Carol silently reads the rest of the letter, full of heartbreak. _Don't look like she forgot all about good old Reginald, though,_ Daryl points out after a few minutes, pulling a few letters from the box. _There are more from '41._

 

Considering that Elise would have long been married by then, Carol plucks a letter from Daryl’s hand enthusiastically, not missing his grin. But this is exactly what she hoped for when they came up here. Stories, secrets. Something real that's tied to all these mementos. _It has only been four days since last I saw you, and already I can feel my heart weeping,_ she reads, ignoring Daryl’s disapproving snort. _Already I'm counting the days until you are next in the city. Until I can hold you in my arms again. Taste that sweet wine on your lips and fall asleep against your bosom._ Her eyes widen as she silently reads the next few lines, all of them written in colorful words but plain enough to understand what they're about. _Well, this goes on for a while,_ she mutters.

 

Elise and Reginald clearly enjoyed their little affair. Or so it seems.

 

_Think there are people who wanna buy vintage porn?_ Daryl chuckles.

 

_Daryl!_ Carol gasps, swatting her hand at his exposed forearm and shaking her head. She can't hold back a giggle, though. Her heart feels light when he feels comfortable enough to make jokes like these.

 

Despite the rather salacious content, she keeps reading, a few lines towards the bottom of the page drawing her attention. _Oh, listen,_ she says, beginning to read again. _Along with this letter, I am sending you a glimpse at how I see you, how your beauty is immortal in my eyes. Although I know you will not be able to keep it – or these letters – it is my desire for you to see yourself with my eyes._ Carol smiles to herself, the words striking a cord. _There's another page-,_ she says, turning it over. _Oh God._

 

She can feel her eyes widening as she stares down at the drawing of a beautiful, naked woman, reclining on a bed, long legs crossed, her hair cascading over her small, bare breasts. _What?_ Daryl asks, leaning forward to catch a glimpse but she takes a step back.

 

_Ehem.... I'm not sure you want to see this,_ she chuckles, taking in the fine lines of the pencil, the details that haven't faded even after so many decades. Daryl doesn't let up, though, and when she turns the page around he goes pale.

 

_Jesus,_ he groans, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. _I can never unsee that._

 

Carol laughs at that and the way he makes a point of looking away, staring down at his boots. _It's good,_ she remarks. A lot of passion clearly went into the drawing, and the man who did it had more than a little talent for the arts. But she can also see that it wasn't just drawn from the perspective of an aroused, passion-driven man. The woman's body is nude, yes, but the most detail rests in her face. The shape of her lips, her eyelashes, even the shells of her ears. This is what he spent the most time on. The beauty he saw in her that perhaps she couldn't see in herself.

 

_Burn it,_ Daryl huffs, stepping away and sitting down on the edge of the arm chair.

 

_It's just a naked woman, Daryl,_ Carol teases, making a point to hold the drawing in a way he can see it bright and clear. _I'm sure you've seen one before._

 

_Course I have,_ he answers all too quickly, sounding more defensive than he should considering she was only teasing him. It can't possibly be a lie – just can't be. But clearly, she struck a cord, and before she accidentally hurts him, she turns away and reaches for another letter.

 

Elise's and Reginald's story is over, after all. There's nothing to ruin anymore.

 

_Let's see,_ she murmurs, reaching for two letters at the bottom of the box. _January 1942. My darling, the war has reached us all. I am to be sent overseas in a fortnight. I will make the journey with memories of our last encounter in my heart._

 

Reading the rest of the short letter in silence, Carol feels a heaviness in her heart, and she sits down on the arm of the chair with a sigh. Daryl's shoulder presses just slightly against her spine, a comforting warmth and when he doesn't pull away, she continues with the next letter. _June 1942. Your letter has reached me with a delay. It is cold and bleak out here, and all that warms me is the memory of you. The greatest pain is not knowing when or if we'll meet again. The child you write of, the child you carry, I so dearly wish it is mine. For you to carry a piece of me. A proof of our love._

 

She stops reading then. The letter is different. Shorter, more to the point. The paper is worn, cheap, and clearly has been folded often enough to nearly fall apart.

 

_She got herself knocked up,_ Daryl scoffs, but he's clearly baffled by all they discovered through just these letters. Whatever image he had of the woman he only knows as the old witch, it's obviously been shattered.

 

_This is the last letter,_ Carol sighs, tracing her finger over Reginald's signature at the bottom, promising forever love. She folds the letter carefully, sets it down in her lap.

 

_Ya sure?_ Daryl asks, turning towards her until his shoulder presses more firmly into her back.

 

She nods. All the other letters were dated earlier, and she wonders how their story ended. _Maybe he died in the war,_ she wonders, her voice just a whisper and a sudden sadness fills her heart. Whatever love they had didn't last, could never really be. There are so many questions floating in her mind. Was Elise happy with her husband? Why did she choose him over the man who wrote all these letters? Did he ever find out about his wife's affair? Whose child did she carry? Did she ever know what happened to the man she must have loved?

 

_Got his last name anywhere?_ Daryl asks, but Carol can only shake her head again. The thought had come to her, too. With a last name, they might have found out what happened to him, if he really did die in the war.

 

_No._ He only ever signed with his first name, leaving them no clues. _And no envelopes._ She sighs, all her previous enthusiasm suddenly drained. She feels tired instead, the heat up here making it hard to breathe. _This is so sad._

 

They are both silent for a moment. When suddenly, but softly, Daryl rests his hand on her own, Carol nearly bolts from the chair. He caught her off guard but she composes herself quickly enough, leaning back against his shoulder enough to let him know it's all right.

 

His hand is calloused and warm like it was that night on her balcony, and she curls her fingers around his without hesitation. It feels intimate, almost too intimate, but she craves his touch more and more every day. _How 'bout we call it a day?_ he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of her neck and she closes her eyes for a moment, drinking in the closeness and the tenderness of his shy touch. _'s too hot up here anyway._

 

That's not really the reason and they both know it, but it's an excuse he still needs to take these steps and she accepts it with a weary smile. _I guess, yes,_ she sighs, tracing her thumb over the side of his hand and turning her head just a few inches. Enough to see his face, _so_ close. His eyes flicker down to her lips for a second, and she wishes she could just lean in and kiss him. Feels like he wants it just as much, but even though her body almost moves on its own, she doesn't push it.

 

There's a similar conflict raging in Daryl’s eyes. When he speaks again, low and hoarse, he's trying to distract from the tension that's becoming harder and harder to fight – the temptation that's becoming more and more unbearable to resist. _Wanna start season six?_ They'd decided to opt out of their usual Sunday routine of watching Game of Thrones to work up here instead, and Carol feels some of her sadness pass at the idea of spending more time with him despite canceling their original plans.

 

_I do,_ she breathes with a nod, squeezing his hand.

 

 

 

Any sadness is quickly forgotten when she's curled up on the couch with containers of Chinese food and leftover cupcakes on the coffee table. Any weariness can't last when she inches a little closer to Daryl as dragons wreak havoc on screen, her heart pounding a little when she allows her arm to brush his.

 

There's no room for dread in her heart when he wraps an arm around her, looking at her with a silent question for permission and she curls into his side without a moment of hesitation. She forgets all about love stories that have long gathered dust when his fingers trace up and down her arm.

 

_This_ is what matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt out regularly scheduled Caryl cuteness for a slightly salacious period drama :D I really wanted them to find something up there that would make Daryl see the old woman in a slightly different light – but I hope it was still enough Caryl for you ;)
> 
> For visuals: this is [the box](http://oi68.tinypic.com/14vgqk2.jpg) that the letters are in, and this is the [necklace](https://guideimg.alibaba.com/images/shop/73/08/21/1/9ct-real-gold-synthetic-ruby-solitaire-vintage-heart-design-pendant_3351431.jpg) inside.


	20. closer

It's not until Wednesday that they have time to head up into the attic again. Carol only works a half-day and he got up early at the break of dawn to finish his tasks of the day by early afternoon.

 

He missed her. _God,_ he missed her and it's only been three days. In such a short amount of time she has wormed her way into his heart and her presence in his life is something he can no longer image living without. Doesn't even know how he did it before. The loneliness that Aaron saw in him, maybe it was more severe than he ever allowed himself to admit.

 

 

 

When he knocks on her door and she opens with a wide smile, it feels like everything is falling into place again.

 

 

 

They decide to tackle the remaining cardboard boxes today, and when he opens them he half expects spell books, a cauldron or more creepy dolls. Instead, he finds himself digging through mountains of clothes that were once abandoned and tossed into a box, never to be worn again.

 

_Jesus, she couldn't have donated any of these?_ he asks, grabbing a handful of old shirts and blouses and lifting them half-heartedly from the box. They smell old and dusty, almost as stale as everything else up here. _Ain't gonna find nobody who wants to wear any of them things now._

 

Carol chuckles, and when he looks at her she's exploring a box of her own. _You'd be surprised,_ she tells him, and he wonders for a moment who would still wear any of this. His thoughts are disrupted, though, when Carol laughs and pulls a massive, floor-length coat from the box. It's a reddish-brown color with a fur collar, and it looks like something out of a documentary or one of those yawn-inducing romance movies from a century ago.

 

_Ya gonna keep that?_ he asks her with a chuckle as she sways it around, tracing her fingers over the embroidery at the bottom of the sleeves.

 

She rolls her eyes at him, a sight so sweet it nearly makes him sigh – everything she does has that effect on him. It's almost intoxicating to watch the delicacy of her movements, to listen to the melody of her voice. He's lost in her and it's terrifying and thrilling all at once.

 

_Of course not,_ she replies, brushing her hand over the brown velvet one more time. _It's so heavy._ Giving the garment a displeased look, Carol drapes it over the armchair, and he's about to ask how they're going to decide what of this to toss into the trash when she gasps. _Oh, look,_ she's digging deep into the box, her eyes beaming, pulling out something cream-colored. _That must've been her wedding dress._

 

She presses the dress to her front, runs her hand over the lace. _Looks like a curtain,_ he scoffs, not sure why there needs to be so much lace and when she turns it, there's even ruffles in the back. Who even _invented_ those?

 

Carol casts him a half-serious look, swaying her hips from side to side and allowing the skirt of the dress to flutter. _Well, if you say things like that you're never getting married,_ she teases with a thin-lipped smirk, carefully folding the dress and draping it over the coat.

 

Just the idea of him ever getting married is ridiculous enough to prompt a quick answer from him. _Wasn't planning to-_ He stops mid-sentence because his brain finally catches up, and all of a sudden the dress that Carol had held is on her body in his imagination, and she's holding a bouquet, wearing a smile, walking in a field of flowers – towards him. He shakes the thought off like a wet rag, quickly turning around and reaching for the first box he can find. Tearing it open as a distraction, he groans at the discovery. _Great. Bunch a shoes in here,_ he mutters, hoping that Carol won't pick up on his awkwardly dropped sentence about his thoughts on marriage.

 

_Shoes?_ The edge of excitement in her voice is indicator enough that he made just the right find to steer himself out of a potentially awkward conversation. _Let me see._ She rushes over to him, stepping into his personal space without even a hint of doubt. Instead, she all but pushes him aside in her eagerness to grasp the small box that’s filled to the brim with old shoes.

 

_Ouch,_ he chuckles, rubbing his arm even though she'd no more than brushed against it.

 

Well aware of that, she looks up at him through her lashes in the most devious way before digging back into the shoes. _Look at these!_ she gasps, pulling out a pay of shiny, golden heels. _My grandmother used to have some just like this._ There's a dreamy quality to her voice, like she's lost in a fond memory. It feels like the greatest gift for her to share these little details with him and he drinks them up eagerly, can't tear his eyes away from her profile – all freckled skin and soft lines. _They look like they're my size._

 

It takes him a while to go back to work himself, much more interested in watching Carol. The other day, after finding those letters, she had seemed sober, most of her enthusiasm wiped away. It's back now, bright and clear and evident in the rosy color of her cheeks.

 

 

 

Half an hour later, they have come up with a decent system to sort the clothes, but there's just more and more of them spilling out of every new box they open. He has already dug his way through dressing gowns and suits, more shoes and blouses, found a jewelry box that Carol told him to keep an eye on. His hands have touched so much wool, linen, velvet and silk that he feels tired of it all.

 

_Oh God!_ Carol exclaims then, and he looks up from where he sits crossed-legged on the floor, sorting through shirts that look like they were all the rage in the seventies. _Look at all these dresses._ She just opened a new box, excitedly pulling out dress after dress in all sorts of colors and shapes. Most of them look like they were worn long before the seventies, and even he has to admit that some of them look quite beautiful – if this was something he had any kind of interest in.

 

_Step up from them sweater she always wore,_ he snorts, remembering the woolen nightmares the old witch usually paraded around in. Heavy, thick wool in emerald greens and burgundy red, flowers stitched to it, brooches shimmering in the dim hallway light.

 

Carol pays him no mind, smoothing her hands over a delicate looking blue dress with a fluttering skirt and a shimmering pattern stitched to the front. Cautious of the old fabric, she drapes it over the arm chair, joining all other items that she feels can be sold to a second hand shop or put online for sale. _I'm going to try one on,_ she declares, pulling out the next dress – he can't make out the shape of it because it just looks like a bunched up, infinite amount of shiny, deep red fabric.

 

His face contorts with mild disgust. _Seriously? They've been up here for ages._ No to mention they have no idea who wore them on what occasion, or if they were even washed before being dumped up here.

 

But Carol seems rather unconcerned by all of his worries, shrugging instead and clutching the red dress to her chest. _Well, they haven't grown legs,_ she quips, looking down at the dress with an expression he can't really read. Admiration? Excitement? Fear? It only lasts a second, though before she looks at him, nodding towards the wall. _Turn around._

 

_What?_

 

_Turn around,_ she repeats, sounding so serious that it doesn't take him long to understand her intentions.

 

_Ya gonna put it on_ now _?_ he asks, taking a look around the dust and cobweb covered place.

 

Carol doesn't seem bothered by any of that. Instead, she clutches the dress tighter to her chest and nods. _Yes. Turn around,_ he groans and pushes himself back onto his feet. His legs prickle as his blood flows more freely. _And no peeking,_ Carol adds with a small wink that nearly drives another blush onto his face.

 

_Already seen it all, remember?_ he forces himself to say, trying to appear at least half as at ease as she is about this sort of thing. The memory of her little entrapment on the balcony is still vivid in his mind, and he'd had to shake off thoughts of the sun-kissed planes of her skin more than once since he got to lay eyes on it.

 

_Shut up,_ Carol spits playfully, swirling her hand through the air in a motion that tells him once more to turn around. He does so reluctantly, this whole situation more than a little silly. For a few minutes, he stands there with his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at the ugly lamp shade they definitely need to toss onto the trash pile. If someone is insane enough to actually want this, then he'll lose his remaining hope in humanity.

 

He can hear the soft sounds of a zipper being dragged down and fabric being shed, of shoes thudding against the ground and more fabric crinkling in the quiet of the attic. Heels click against the floor and another zipper is being dragged up, and he impatiently taps his foot against the ground to add to the rhythm.

 

_How do I look?_ Carol asks eventually, and he takes that as permission to turn around again. When he does, he has to concentrate not to stumble over his own damn feet because _fuck_ she looks gorgeous. The deep, red dress fits her perfectly, sitting snug against the curves of her waist and hips, baring her freckled arms and plunging deep enough for the sunlight to catch in the valley between her breasts. She's put on the golden shoes, too, and they're stretching her already long, slender legs beyond what he thought possible.

 

_Pretty,_ he chokes before he can come up with a less pathetic word, his eyes roaming her body against his better judgment. When he finally lingers on her face he can spot a flush on her cheeks and neck, and her eyes are flickering down between the floor and his own. _Ya look real pretty,_ he repeats, more in control of his voice this time and it draws a smile from her lips that's worth his own embarrassment.

 

They are both quiet for a moment that stretches too long, standing a few feet apart and letting the silence engulf them before Carol sighs. _Where's that jewelery box you found earlier?_ she asks, and after a moment of processing her words and the sight of her, he awkwardly waves at the box he'd put on top of the dresser.

 

The second she walks up to it, she's right in his space, the fabric of the skirt brushing his legs. He can see the way it dips low in the back as well now, the sun kissing the dips of her vertebrae at the top of her spine. _Oh,_ Carol gasps as she opens the box, a small array of earrings, rings and necklaces shimmering in the soft light. _These must be worth a fortune._

 

She trails her fingers over jewels and pearls, gold and silver, finally settling on a necklace that boasts several silver flowers all connected by elaborate strings of pearls. When she puts it around her neck, her fingers brush her own skin and he watches, enthralled, the way her silver hair rivals the shine of the necklace. _Can you close it for me?_ she asks with a low voice, looking over her shoulder at him.

 

All he has to do is reach out and close the little lock. That's all. He's close enough.

 

But it's not enough. He's drawn to her like a magnet, taking two steps forward until his chest brushes ever so slightly against her back, and the way she trembles at the light touch has his palms turning sweaty. Slowly, he takes the necklace from her, allowing his calloused fingertips to feather over the base of her neck, and he leans in a little closer – not because the lock is so small but because Carol cranes her neck when the warmth of his breath hits her skin, and he can see an avalanche of goosebumps wash over her arms.

 

He makes quick work of the necklace but his hands linger, following the line of her shoulder and down her arms as he leans in just a fraction more, braver than he really is. _Done,_ he murmurs, and she shivers again, raw and vulnerable and when she turns slowly, she is _so_ close. Closer than before. He can feel her breasts push against his chest and the tip of her nose nudge against his, and it wouldn't take much to lean in an finally kiss her.

 

As hard as it is for his fucked up mind to admit, he thinks she wants the same. The way her eyes are dark and hooded, flickering down to his lips. The way her fingers curl and uncurl against her hips. The way her pink lips are parted and her breathing is ragged.

 

But she looks away then, either because he misread her or because she interpreted his cowardice as disinterest.

 

_You should wear this,_ she says instead, her voice still a little too breathy for the humor she tries to put into the words, grabbing a hat from a nearby box and setting it down on his head.

 

He tries to laugh a little, but the tension between them is still too thick and it comes out as a weird, throaty sound that's a little too high pitched and she doesn't miss that. Looks up at him through her lashes instead and drags her lower lip between her teeth and he feels every muscle in abdomen tensing at the sight.

 

_How do I look?_ he asks, repeating her earlier question and prompting a light smile from her that, for a moment, makes him think that maybe they can make it out of this moment without utter awkwardness.

 

_Very dashing,_ she replies, lifting her hands between them to theatrically straighten the collar of his shirt.

 

_Stop,_ he drawls, considering himself lucky she didn't force him into one of those stiff-looking suits earlier. For a moment there, he felt like he was stuck in some old-fashioned play as it is.

 

Carol smiles a little wider at his familiar reply, but the silence that follows pulls them right back to where they were before. They're just as close again, breathing each other's air, and the fingers she had loosely curled into his collar are grasping tighter now, the lightest bit of a pull that makes him swallow.

 

Her wide, blue eyes flicker down to his lips again, full of uncertainty and desire alike and he knows if he doesn't get over his issues right now he might never be able to. _Daryl...,_ she breathes, so soft that it's almost a question and he takes a deep breath a moment later, gives her the slightest of nods that barely lasts a second before he dips his head and presses his lips against hers.

 

His eyes flutter shut the moment he feels her warm, soft skin against his. The kiss is chaste and light for only a few seconds before weeks worth of tension comes bubbling to the surface and takes control, and suddenly Carol's hands are reaching up and tossing the hat to the ground, clever fingers curling around his neck instead. Lightly dragging her fingers across the base of his skull, she easily draws a light groan from him, one of his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her even closer. As flush against his chest as possible.

 

She is so impossibly soft against him, her lips parting against his eagerly. He's not brave enough to deepen the kiss just yet, but he cups her cheek in his palm instead, drags his thumb over her cheekbone and feels the flush on her skin, listens to the soft sigh that his touch draws from her.

 

The last thing he wants is to ever pull away, but eventually they break apart, sucking in a deep breath, their foreheads pressed together. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, lingering in that darkness before blinking a few times, her face coming into focus.

 

There's a smile on her kiss-swollen lips, and it might be the most beautiful thing he's ever see. Her arms are still loosely wrapped around his neck, fingers drawing delicate patterns against his scalp, fingers sifting through his hair. He wants to purr from the gentleness, from how good this feels. How right.

 

He takes another deep breath, presses his hand a little more firmly against the small of her back, and he can't help but chuckle a little when a familiar scent hits his nostrils. Stale and dusty. _Ya smell funny,_ he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against hers.

 

Carol laughs at that, bright and clear, clutching his shoulder with one hand. _Smooth, Daryl,_ she whispers then, edging a little closer – the dress she wears making soft sounds against the denim of his jeans. _Really smooth._ Their laughter stills then, and Daryl wants to lean in and kiss her again so badly that it nearly hurts not to do it.

 

They should talk. Settle what they're ready for. But Carol doesn't seem to agree on that and maybe he's overthinking things because the next seconds she's tilting her head enough for her lips to brush the corner of his mouth, whispering hoarsely. _Can we do that again?_

 

There's confidence and shyness in an odd sort of balance in her voice and he nods again, barely managing to choke out a _yes_ before she claims his mouth, harder and more demanding than he had – or than he had been brave enough to do. But whatever timidness held them back before is shattered now and she clutches at his neck, her nails biting into his skin just slightly as she traces the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue.

 

He opens up for her with a rumbling groan, his hand lowering from her cheek down to her hip and holding her there with a firm grip. She tastes sweet, like chocolate and coffee and a hint of strawberry from the icing he saw her licking off her fingers earlier, the last cupcake now gone from her fridge.

 

The broken whimper she makes when he draws her lip between his own for a brief second is nearly driving him to the edge of his control, and he pulls away from her then, taking a cautious step back and she does the same. Maybe she, too, realized that they can't cross too many lines at once. Their hands remain in place, though, and they're still close enough for him to easily lean down and press one last, chaste kiss to her lips. And another. And a last one because he feels like he's drunk on her.

 

Her lips curl into a smile for the last two kisses, and when he finally does pull away she looks at him with so much awe that he feels like disappearing into the ground. Maybe it was too much, maybe he shouldn't have-

 

But she doesn't even let him finish the thought, rests her hand on his cheek instead and nods softly before leaning in and resting her forehead against his collarbone. A sigh escapes him as her warm body burrows into his, and without a moment of hesitation he wraps his arms around her to hold her as close as he can.

 

_Y'all dressed up now,_ he whispers, running his hand up and down the dips of her spine, the shiny fabric unbelievably soft to the touch. _Ya wanna... maybe..._ In that moment, he wishes more than ever before that his life wasn't so fucked up. That he was the kind of guy who could just ask someone out without stumbling over every word. The reasonable part of his brain knows she won't reject him, that she allowed this to go this far and is right here in his arms, seeking out his touch. But old demons won't ever be silenced, and they hold his throat in a vice grip. _Ya wanna go out tonight?_ he asks quietly, knowing they have spent too much time together for him to still be this nervous. _Dinner. Wanna have dinner tonight?_

 

Carol tilts her head just enough to look up at him, the shimmer in her eyes even more beautiful than that of the excessive necklace she still wears. _I do,_ she replies softly, pressing her palm flat to his heart that still pounds and judging by the way the corner of her mouth quirks upwards, he's pretty sure she can feel it. _But I'm not going out in this,_ she she adds with a little laugh, swaying her hips enough to make the skirt flutter.

 

He was prepared to let her drag him to some fancy ass restaurant, would have done that for her if she wanted it. As long as the food's all right, he's sure he could've endured all the fanfare around it. But she seems content with something simpler and he's grateful for that.

 

Gently, he cradles her head in his hand, feels the silky softness of her silver curls between his fingertips like he craved to do so many times. _Don't matter to me,_ he admits with a coarse murmur. _Y'always look real pretty._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter took a bit longer. I'm mostly back to my regular work schedule so I had neither the time nor energy to finish it sooner :/ But I've been super excited about writing this chapter for weeks - so naturally I'm not too happy with the result. But I really hope it was worth the wait for you guys :)
> 
> For visuals: this is [the coat](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e9/93/7b/e9937b1b1568addb9f45a0686a6723dc.jpg), [the wedding dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/53/09/7a/53097ab3838da5178611a01bfdccfa59.jpg), [the shoes](http://www.royalvintageshoes.com/image/shoes/sergi/chelsea-crew-sergi-vintage-shoes-gold%20%281%20of%2010%29.jpg), [the blue dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1d/67/87/1d6787f8896a23501a7903df88d0efdb.jpg), [the red dress](https://sc01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1fsitKVXXXXbPXFXXq6xXFXXXI/1950-s-Vintage-Satin-Knee-Length-Burgundy.jpg), [the necklace](http://oi63.tinypic.com/10r0oef.jpg), and [the hat](http://oi68.tinypic.com/eq5hdf.jpg)
> 
> Next up we'll see what happens after the date and we'll 'finally' meet Gregory. Spoiler alert: he's not a Caryl shipper ;)


	21. inappropriate behavior

_I won't ever eat anything ever again,_ Carol groans, laughing even as she feels close to bursting at the seams. Her arm is linked with Daryl's as they make their way up the stairs. Outside, it's dark already, and the dim light in the hallway bathes them in a milky, orange glow.

 

_That chocolate pie was too much, huh?_ Daryl asks, grinning down at her and making her stomach flutter. This feels good – the warm weight of his body against hers.

 

She scoffs at his words, though, playfully nudging his ribs and they stumble a little on the top step. _You stole it all, I barely had half a piece,_ she complains. Even though she doesn't know what made her order a third of a pie after a large cheeseburger and a massive amount of fries, it had been Daryl who ate most of it. Daryl, who ten minutes earlier told her that dessert was overrated.

 

_Hey, that ain't true,_ he defends himself, but he can't hide his guilty smirk no matter how hard he tries.

 

_Yes, it is,_ she insists, looking up at him and leaning in a bit closer. _You're a thief._

 

He's about to say something when the door to an apartment opens, the one next to Denise and Tara's. A man steps out, gray hair and slightly bald, a little round around the middle and wearing an awful looking, light brown suit. _Evening,_ he greets stiffly, eying them both and Carol stops walking when Daryl does.

 

She can feel him tensing by her side.

 

He just gives a grunt in response, almost subconsciously tugging Carol a little further into his side.

 

The man eyes them with suspicion and without a shred of kindness for a moment and Carol instantly feels uncomfortable. _You might want to keep it down, I'm sure some people are trying to sleep,_ the man says eventually, pursing his lips.

 

Carol feels a rush of embarrassment washing over her. _Sorry,_ she apologizes, hoping they weren't too loud. She doesn't even know what time it is – the hours had just flown by with Daryl by her side. Even after they left the diner and walked back home along the riverside, she hadn't felt tired or exhausted or ready to end this night.

 

The last thing she wants is to bother anyone in the house by making too much noise. But Daryl just growls a little under his breath. _Carol, this is Gregory,_ he introduce her, and suddenly everything falls into place. She should have remembered that he lives next door to Tara and Denise, but the thought never occurred to her.

 

She doesn't feel as guilty anymore, fully aware of Gregory's tendency to complain about absolutely everything, but she still feels the need for politeness. _Hey, I moved into-_ she begins, but Gregory dismissively waves his hand.

 

_Yes, I know who you are,_ he interrupts her, startling her a little with his downright rudeness. _I heard that you two were... involved._ The way looks at them makes her shudder a little in disgust, and it was apparently rather obvious because Daryl finds her hand, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles in a soothing manner. _I guess those rumors were true. Don't you think it's a little inappropriate?_ Gregory asks, lips pursed again and his eyes fixed on Carol.

 

_The hell ya talkin' about?_ Daryl replies gruffly, but Gregory still won't face him, his eyes dragging down Carol's body, lingering a little too long on all the wrong places and making her take a tiny step back – effectively hiding a small part of her body behind Daryl.

 

That seems to force Gregory to face Daryl instead, crossing his arms in front of his chest. _I'm not so sure Mr. Horvath would approve of the relationships you entertain with his tenants. It's unprofessional, to say the least._

 

Carol can feel Daryl tensing, his free hand curling into a white-knuckled fist and his voice a low growl when he replies. _Man, this ain't none of ya damn business._

 

_Daryl-_ she starts, resting her hand between his shoulder blades. He tenses even more for a second before relaxing into her touch, sucking in a deep breath. She can understand his anger, feels some of it simmering in her own veins because she doesn’t see anything inappropriate about what they're doing. It shouldn't matter what Gregory is saying, though, and that's what she's telling herself.

 

_If she in any way benefits from this, then I sure believe it is my business,_ Gregory replies, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to make himself appear bigger and more intimidating than he is. In truth, there’s nothing intimidating about him at all. He looks like a sorry, pathetic excuse of a man, but he's stepping on Daryl’s toes and he seems to have a harder time keeping himself in check than Carol does.

 

When he takes one step forward she clutches at his arm, holding him back. _Daryl, don't,_ she pleads, looking up at him with a soft expression and he meets her gaze, blue eyes turned to steel. But within just a second or two, he melts a little, closes his eyes and leans into her.

 

_You should listen to Karen, she sounds reasonable,_ Gregory replies, apparently not at all realizing that he's treading on very thin ice here. Carol has a few things she's dying to say to him, but she bites them back, not very keen on starting a neighborhood feud barely a month after moving in.

 

_Her name's Carol,_ Daryl hisses, but before the two men can continue this, Carol begins to steer him towards the stairs.

 

_Come on, let's go,_ she says quietly, directed it at just Daryl and paying Gregory no more attention that he doesn't deserve anyway. Daryl follows her without resistance, and they're halfway up the stairs to her floor when they hear the door to Gregory's apartment fall shut.

 

_Sorry 'bout that,_ Daryl mutters as they climb the rest of the stairs, some of the lightness sucked from the mood between them now. _He's an ass._

 

His unnecessary apology puts a small smile on Carol's face and she briefly leans her head against his shoulder to reassure him that everything is fine. _It's okay,_ she breathes, soaking up the warmth of him against her. _I don't care about what he says._

 

With a sigh, she pulls away, coming to a halt in front of her door. She suddenly feels nervous all over again, but mostly dread starts to pour coldly into her veins because this is it. This is the end of their day and she's not quite ready to let go. _This was nice._ She sounds more breathless than she wanted to. Her eyes trail down to where her hand has found Daryl's, their fingers entwined, and she swallows the lump that's beginning to form in her throat.

 

_Yeah, it was,_ he agrees, his own voice hoarse and low and barely above a whisper. The way his thumb draws a circle against the pulse point in her wrist makes her knees buckle, and suddenly she craves to feel his lips against hers again. He'd been so eager up in the attic, shy and clumsy and languid all at the same time – his lips softer than she thought, so warm, the taste of him numbing her senses.

 

Heat pools in the pit of her stomach and she takes an instinctual step closer before freezing again, gathering her courage to look up at him and seeing the same desire reflected in his own eyes.

 

_Daryl-_ she chokes, her tongue tracing her bottom lip and when he follows the movement with his eyes, the tug in her lower abdomen is almost too painful to ignore.

 

Daryl seems to agree, tugging lightly at her arm. _Come 'ere._ She doesn't need to be asked twice, meeting him halfway, her arms wrapping around his neck as his own rest at her hips. Their lips meet slowly at first, a gentle kiss that's like a question for permission. All soft brushes and muted sighs.

 

But it's not enough, it only stokes the embers in her veins more and she takes another step closer, presses the length of her body against his and he hums into the kiss, large hands squeezing at her hips. A second later, his tongue traces the seam of her lips and she opens eagerly for him, sighing when his tongue slides against hers to taste her. Her legs feel weak, her body weightless and heavy as lead all at the same time.

 

She's never been kissed like this before. It's new and exciting and all-consuming and when she nips at his bottom lip ever so carefully it seems that Daryl loses his last bit of restraint. His deep groan sends a shudder through her body, but she barely has time to repeat the action before he takes a wide step forward, pressing her back against the door to her apartment and trapping her body between it and his body.

 

Not able to hold back a moan, she curls her fingers into his hair – soft as silk – and pulls him closer to her, deepening the kiss until she doesn't know where he begins and she ends. His own hands begin to roam her body, one smoothing over the curve of her hip and resting at the small of her back, fingertips grazing the sliver of bare skin where her shirt rode up. The other explores her without a destination in mind, following the dip of her waist, ghosting up her arm, his warm palm resting against the thrumming pulse point in her neck.

 

It's like he can't decide where to touch her first and suddenly all the clothes they are wearing are in the way. She tilts her hips up towards him in an attempt to get his hand to slip fully under her shirt and feel the calloused skin of his palm against her spine. But what it does is push her belly against his groin, and she gasps into the kiss when she feels him – hard and warm.

 

He pulls away from the kiss, but she doesn't allow him to move too far, clutching him to her with eager hands curled into his hair. _Carol,_ he groans, his hips bucking weakly against her and her head falls back against the door with a thud. She never felt powerful before, never felt desired. As charming as Ed could be sometimes when he wanted or needed to be, he always failed to make her feel like this. She savors the moment, drags her nails slowly down Daryl's scalp and he shudders against her. _Fuck,_ he mutters, dropping his forehead against hers.

 

She knows she shouldn't push this any further The longer they linger here the more frustrating it will be when they part. And they have to. As tempting as it is to invite him inside, it's too soon. She might be consumed with the need to feel him, all of him, against her, _inside_ her, but the very real threat of being overwhelmed once they step through her door keeps her from breathing the words.

 

_We should...,_ she starts, distracted when Daryl’s hand does begin to slide under her shirt, following the dips of her spine until he reaches the clasp of her bra. He moves back down, ghosting over her tailbone, then back up. Goosebumps break out all over her skin despite the warmth of his breath against her face. _I should go,_ she finally says, her breath too quick, too shallow for her words to sound very sincere. _Inside,_ she mutters when Daryl lowers his head, nuzzling his nose against her neck before pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. _I should-_ she starts again, but she already knows she's fighting a loosing battle when she moans his name instead.

 

The sound of that seems to spur him on and she can feel the vibrations of his groan when he presses a more fervent kiss to her neck, his free hand clutching her waist again. This time, his fingertips just barely graze the underside of her bra and she arches into his touch, feels warm and sticky all over her body and she needs to feel something, anything to relief the tension that's coiling so tightly inside.

 

_Please,_ she begs, not sure what she's asking for, but he doesn't hesitate to reach down and grip her thigh, hitching it around his hip and then he's pressed against her perfectly. So damn perfectly that he grunts into the curve of her neck and thrust up against her, sending a jolt of electricity up her spine. All she can do is clutch at his shoulders and arch into him, eyes closed as her core presses against the hard length of him trapped beneath the denim of his jeans.

 

They shouldn't be doing this here, shouldn't be doing this in the first place but she's powerless to stop this. It feels too good. The way he pants against her collarbone, the way he pulls her against him with each of his shallow but eager thrusts, the way his hand creeps up her ribcage more and more until she bucks into him and he finally cups the weight of her breast in his hand.

 

She whimpers when he squeezes, when his thumb drags over her nipple where it strains against her shirt. It sends a jolt down her spine all the way to her core and if they don't stop this soon then she won't be able to be reasonable. She'll drag him inside and let him take her against the hallway wall with his pants pushed over his hips and her shirt rucked up over her breasts.

 

She won't care. But she knows, even in the haze of the moment, that they'll both regret it afterward.

 

There's weeks worth of tension between them but she knows they can be more than just a quick fuck to release that tension. And she knows that if they don't stop now, that's exactly what this is going to be. They're both too far gone for anything else, wound too tightly to take this slow.

 

But she wants it to be more. Desperately.

 

_Daryl,_ she breathes, her breath hitching when he sucks at her neck slightly. His only response is a muffled grunt as he chases more friction, grinding himself against her in the most maddening way. _Daryl,_ she repeats more fervently, and this time he understands the warning in her voice. Instantly, his hips freeze and he pulls back to look at her.

 

He is a sight for sore eyes. His lips are swollen, eyes dark, cheeks flushed and his hair a mess. She soothingly runs her hand through the strands, smoothing them down a little and smiling hazily at him to let him know he did nothing wrong.

 

_We should stop,_ she whispers, already mourning the loss of his touch when he pulls his hand away from her breast.

 

He swallows visibly, but there's nothing but understanding in his eyes. _Yeah,_ he agrees, slowly lowering her leg from his hip until her foot hits the ground again. _Good night,_ he murmurs, leaning down to nudge his nose against hers and seek another kiss.

 

It's soft, chaste, almost feather-light but she can already feel him moving closer into her space, and her own treacherous body is clawing at him to get closer. She pulls away with the slightest whimper, hoping that he understands just how badly she wants him to stay.

 

_Good night,_ she whispers, pressing one last, quick kiss to his lips before stepping out of his embrace and unlocking her door.

 

 

 

She barely makes it four steps into her apartment before slumping against the wall, her pulse rushing in her ears as her hearts pounds a bruising rhythm against her ribcage.

 

_Shit,_ she hisses, dropping her keys onto the small table and it only takes her a handful of seconds to pop open the button on her pants and slide her hand inside.

 

She's wet and raw and moves her fingers at an almost punishing pace. In the end, it barely takes a minute before she falls apart, biting back a moan as her legs give out and she sinks limply down onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't getting too frustrating. But they're making some big process, I think :)
> 
> Next up: Tara and Denise find out about the newest developments.


	22. haunted

_Ya worthless piece o' shit._ His father's voice rings in his ears, deep and hoarse from years of smoke and hard alcohol. Always too loud, hollering through the walls of the shed they called home.

 

He's there, right in his face. Empty eyes and balled fists. Stinking of sweat and piss and cheap booze. _Should'a put a pillow over ya head when ya was a kid._ The constant wish that he _had_ done just that. To end this torment before it even began. Begging for it silently whenever the leather lashed over his back.

 

Bony fingers curled around his throat. Squeezing the life from him. Just a little harder. Just a bit more. But also the fear, the complete agony. He doesn't want to die. Wants to go to the lake up in the mountains when the summer comes. Wants to save up money for that new comic book. _Should'a beat ya outta ya momma's belly._

 

If only he had.

 

His mother's grave, bleak and gray. No flowers. Her absence manifests as silence when he's lost out in the forest. As noise when a bottle of beer clashes and shatters against the stained linoleum floor. As a muffled scream when a cigarette burns through his flesh. _Probably ain't even mine._ A kick to the small of his back. A bruise forming there like ink spilled over a canvas – he can't even walk back to his room. Crawls there with tears burning in his eyes. _Don't ya go cryin' over that whore._

 

Schoolbooks torn on the floor of his crappy room. Homework crumpled, ripped apart. _Ain't nobody ever gonna look at ya and think ya more than white trash._ A slap on the face that burns for days. A split lip, the taste of blood on his tongue.

 

Telling himself over and over that he can be more until the dream is beaten out of him with the weathered strap of his father's belt.

 

_Ya should've burned down with 'er._ Water filling his lungs, nails biting into his scalp, holding him down. Down down down. Coughing so much that he can't speak for days after when he's dragged back up by the roots of his hair. Bald spots on his scalp.

 

_Ya think y'all high an' mighty?_ A laugh that's more demeaning than any act of violence could ever be. _Y'ain't ever gonna get outta-_

 

_Shut up!_ Daryl hisses, gripping the edge of the sink so hard that his knuckles turn white. His father's voice still echoes in his memory as he stares into the mirror.

 

Instead of the man he is now, all he can see is a skinny, pale boy with dark circles under his bruised eyes. Slowly, he trails a hand over a scar on his chest, feels the ridges of the healed tissue. Turns to the side to stare at the carnage on his back. Flesh riddled in a maze of scars, faded but still so very clear.

 

He can still taste Carol's kiss on his lips, still feels the heat pulsing through his veins even though it barely took him a dozen quick strokes of his own hand to find release.

 

They came so close, so close to throwing all caution to the wind. If she'd asked him inside, he wouldn't have denied her. Would have done whatever she wanted him to do. Would have taken her right there in her hallway, would have taken her to bed. He'd have bared himself to her when that's something he's never done. But he would have, just to feel her soft skin against his own.

 

Now, he's glad they didn't take it too far. Staring at the sad mementos of his childhood, he knows he wouldn't have been ready. Would have tensed, bolted, ruined the moment.

 

It's not judgment or pity he fears from her. It's himself he's most afraid of.

 

With a sigh, he pulls a worn shirt over his head. He has never known intimacy and what it entails. All he knows is that he craves it with Carol, but now that it's within his reach, he suddenly wonders if he's truly ready for it.

 

Or if he'll ever be.

 

* * *

 

The floorboards creek under his weight as he heads down the hallway. One glance at his watch tells him he's already ten minutes late, but one of the washing machines down in the laundry room had decided to stop draining the water and so he'd been stuck down there all afternoon.

 

It's working now but he barely had time to shower and change and now he's quick on his feet. The sound of soft steps on the stairs distracts him, though, and he turns just a few feet away from his destination. The sight of Carol on the bottom step stirs the familiar flutter in his stomach. _Hey, where are you off to?_ she asks, slowing down and heading towards him with that gentle smile she wears so well.

 

_Dinner,_ he replies, pointing at the apartment door behind him but taking a few steps in her direction instead. _Tara an' Denise asked me over. They're makin' fried chicken. Ya wanna come?_ he asks, this time without any hesitation. They hadn't asked him to bring Carol along but he could tell in Tara's expression that it was implied. He never got a chance to ask though because he hasn't seen Carol all day – but here she is now, a bag slung over her shoulder and wearing tight, black pants that make his mouth go dry.

 

_I'd love to, but I promised Lori I'd go to her yoga class with her,_ she explains, rolling her eyes and grinning half-heartedly.

 

_Yoga?_ His eyebrows raise and he chuckles a bit, already picturing the two of them amongst a group of women and men twisting their bodies in the most senseless ways.

 

She is close enough now to softly slap her hand against his forearm, but instead of pulling away she lingers. Curls her fingers around him and soothes her thumb over his wrist. _It's my first time - wish me luck._

 

He's pretty sure she won't need it but he nods anyway, eyes flickering down to her delicate hand against his skin. _'m sure ya gonna be fine,_ he encourages her, and she blushes just the tiniest bit.

 

_Thanks,_ she breathes. They are quiet for a moment, and he can see in her eyes that she's pondering a thought. He's consumed by the need to kiss her again but he holds back, just allows his gaze to meet hers and then she leans up on the tips of her toes and presses her lips to his. The kiss is soft and quick, but when she pulls away she doesn't move further than an inch. _I'll see you tomorrow?_ she asks in a low whisper, resting her free hand against his shoulder to steady herself.

 

He nods, his forehead presses against hers. _Yeah._ Pulling away now seems impossible and maybe she feels the same because she lingers, too. Smiles before brushing her lips against his one last time – soft and warm and sweet – before she pulls away and disappears down the stairs with a smile she throws over her shoulder.

 

He stands there and watches until she disappears, his heart still stuttering a little in his chest.

 

When he turns back around, it drops into his stomach.

 

_How long've ya been standin' there?_ he asks Tara, who is leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a smug grin on her face.

 

_Long enough,_ she replies, taking a step inside and he reluctantly follows, knowing that he's in for something else. _Denise!_ Tara calls as she marches down the hallway, and Daryl rolls his eyes as he shuts the door behind himself, toeing off his boots. _Daryl has something he wants to tell us._

 

_What's that?_ Denise calls from the kitchen, the smell of chicken filling his nostrils and making his mouth water.

 

He walks over to the kitchen door with slow steps, not too eager to discuss this new development between him and Carol but knowing he won't be able to avoid it. He might as well face it head-on. _Something about him and Carol,_ Tara explains as she slips into the kitchen and grabs a stack of plates from a cabinet. That grin is still plastered to her face and Denise casts Daryl a curious and excited look. _Guess what I just saw._

 

 

 

When he leaves later that night, he has learned that the fact he's kissing someone apparently earns him a proud clap on the back and an extra drink. Toasting and all.

 

Who would have known he's such a hopeless case that a simple kiss would surprise his friends this much. Or would make them so happy for him.

 

* * *

 

This isn't how he imagined getting into Carol's bedroom. But considering the look of utter annoyance and frustration on her face, she didn't think it would go this way, either.

 

_How'd that even happen?_ he asks, taking a look around the carnage in the room. The lampshade on her bedside table is pretty much shredded, the duvet and throw pillows on her bed scattered all over the room, the curtain rod pulled off the wall along with the curtain, there's a dent in the closet door and a vase has fallen from a dresser and shattered on the floor. In the middle of the bed, the ceiling fan has found its final resting place, immobile and almost innocent-looking now.

 

Carol sighs, wrapping her arms around her chest. She still sounds a bit breathless but not as much as five minutes ago when she called him in complete panic. He just barely managed to buckle up his pants before he bolted out of his apartment and up the stairs. _I have no idea, it just started to spin_ really _fast and then it flew off before I could turn it off,_ she explains, making a circular motion with her finger. _Nearly cut my head off,_ she mutters, sending a chill down his spine.

 

_Jesus, y'all right?_ he asks, turning to face her and cupping her face in his hands. He can see nothing wrong, no scratch on her pale, exposed skin. She's wearing shorts and a worn t-shirt, is still barefoot and her hair is a spiky mess. It's easy to imagine waking up next to her every morning.

 

She forces herself to smile up at him, reaching up to rest one hand against his. _It's fine,_ she reassures him, leaning into his touch ever so slightly but enough for him to slip his other hand around her waist and pull her against his chest – an embrace she eagerly accepts and returns. _Please tell me you can fix it, it's going to get so hot in here._ She sounds almost desperate, and even he has to admit that she's having more trouble than these old walls usually make.

 

_Gonna try,_ he assures her, running his hand up and down her back and feeling the warmth of her breath against his chest. _Ya sure ya want it back on?_ He feels knots forming in his stomach at the thought of her laying in that bed with that fan up there on the ceiling, ready to chop her into little pieces. _Could just buy a regular fan._

 

She is quiet for a moment, burrowing deeper into his arms, and then she nods softly. _Might be a better idea._

 

Feeling relieved, Daryl presses a kiss to the crown of her head. She smells of coffee and vanilla, so incredibly sweet. _Ya headin' into work soon?_ he asks, casting a glance at the old-fashioned alarm clock on her bedside table. It's just after seven. Birds are chirping outside, the sound filtering in through the open window.

 

She nods, pulling back enough to look up at him. Everything about her feels so delicate in his arms, and he breathes the same air as her as he drags his thumb over her cheekbone, watching her lashes flutter. _Are you free tonight?_ she asks, her voice quiet but sending a shiver down his spine nonetheless.

 

He wishes he could say yes, that he could spend every free minute with her. But he can't, not today. _Dale's comin' over to discuss some things,_ he explains somberly. She tries to mask her disappointment but he can still see it – and even now he still can't quite believe his luck. _Might be late until he's gone._

 

Carol's lips turn into a frown that only lasts for a few seconds. _Maybe we can do something tomorrow?_ she asks, leaning up until her nose bumps into his. He barely has time to nod before she claims his lips in a kiss that tastes like a promise, and he clutches her body to his for a few breathless seconds, unwilling to let the moment pass just yet.


	23. old wounds

Carol is tearing open a heavy envelope, sucking in the cold air in the hallway as the sweat begins to cool off on her skin. It's scorching outside and she's glad she decided to postpone her trip to the grocery store. There's no way she's carrying anything more than her purse today. _Hey,_ a soft voice greets, briefly startling her. When she turns, Maggie is walking up to her, keys in her hand, wearing a bright smile.

 

_Hey, Maggie,_ Carol replies, tucking the letter back into the envelope and closing her mail box with a screech of the rusty metal.

 

_It's been forever,_ Maggie sighs, opening her own mailbox. _I'm so busy at the moment, I don't have time to stop by the shop._ Annette Greene, who owns the shop where Carol has worked for so long now, is Maggie's stepmother. Back when Carol first started working there, Maggie would stop by every day when she was home from college. Now, she's married and settled here with Glenn, and her visits have become a rarity. _Do you like it here?_ she asks, pulling a newspaper from her mailbox.

 

_I do, it's wonderful,_ Carol replies, unable to bite back a wide smile. This place is the best thing that could have happened to her, and she feels so much joy and gratitude for these old walls that it radiates from her even when she tries not to.

 

Maggie looks pleased to hear that, but then her genuine smile turns into more of a grin and Carol almost expects the question that follows. _So, you and Daryl?_ Maggie asks cautiously, trying hard to sound casual about it – but it hardly matters considering the fact that she's pretty much the reason the entire house knew about them before there was even anything to know. Carol tries to hide her smile by ducking her head, but eventually she just nods. _I'm so happy for you two, he's a nice guy,_ Maggie exclaims, looking so genuinely happy that Carol feels her heart swell a little.

 

People caring about her, about her happiness, is something that she stopped believing in for so long.

 

_He is,_ she agrees, already feeling that ache in her chest that never fades when he's not with her. It's a rush that she has never felt quite like this before. _Thank you._ Maggie dismisses the gratitude, tucking the few letters she pulled from the mailbox into her bag. _How is Beth?_ Carol asks. She hasn't seen Maggie's younger sister in months, and Annette isn't in the shop much lately, so conversations are sparse.

 

_She's doing good. She has a boyfriend now,_ Maggie tells her with a proud smile that Carol returns. _Daddy's not too pleased._ That's easy to believe. Hershel might be a gentle soul, but he's also protective and Carol can imagine that Beth's boyfriend isn't having an easy time right now. _But she's really excited about being an aunt soon,_ Maggie continues, and Carol feels her forehead crease in confusion.

 

_Aunt?_ she asks, wondering if maybe her step-brother Shawn and his girlfriend are having a baby. Carol vaguely remembers Annette mentioning their engagement a few months back.

 

Maggie looks a little startled and surprised. _Oh, mom hasn't mentioned it?_ she asks, only confusing Carol more. Then, slowly, she smiles and rests a hand against her belly – the motion making the clear outline of a baby bump visible under her fluttering green blouse. _I'm pregnant,_ she announces, and Carol's heart drops into her stomach the second the words are spoken. _Sorry, I assumed she's told the whole town by now, she's so excited._ Maggie laughs lightly and Carol forces herself to join in – she can easily imagine Annette being completely thrilled by the idea of becoming a grandmother. She was born for that, really.

 

_That's... that's so wonderful, congratulations,_ she forces herself to say, swallowing the lump in her throat and leaning in to offer Maggie a hug. She can feel the swell of Maggie's stomach pressing against her own as they briefly embrace, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment to blink away the sting of tears. _How are you feeling?_ she asks when they each pull back, wrapping her arms around herself to hide the tremor in her fingers.

 

_Tired,_ Maggie sighs, rolling her eyes. _Exhausted. But really happy._ She really is glowing, her face a little fuller than usual, and Carol curses herself for not noticing any of it sooner. _Glenn is over the moon._

 

She wants to feel happiness for them. She really does. Wants to imagine the two of them with a little baby, healthy and full of joy – they deserve it so much. But she can't. All she feels is cold and empty and the tears that were only a threat before are becoming all too difficult to hold at bay.

 

_I bet,_ she agrees with a shallow and humorless laugh. If Maggie notices, she doesn't say. _I'm really happy for you two,_ Carol continues, trying to make the words sound believable. They're not a lie, but they're not the truth, either. The need to run becomes too big to resists and she gathers her letters against her chest, clutching her keys in a white-knuckled grasp. _I have to go, I- I'll you around,_ she excuses herself, barely giving Maggie time to say goodbye before pushing past her towards the stairs.

 

 

 

The second the door falls shut behind her, Carol sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. Tears have long spilled over, trailing down her overheated cheeks, and she falls back against the door with a gasp. Clutching her hand to her abdomen, she fights the phantom ache that faded so many years ago, but it forces its way back into her body now.

 

The temptation to sink down onto the ground and let her tears consume her is strong, but instead she pushes herself away from the door. Tossing the letters and her key onto the small table by the door, she steps into the sunbathed living room, birdsong filling the room where she left open the window.

 

She hesitates in front of the book shelf for a long time, wiping away salty tears before they can drop down the edge of her jaw and soak into her shirt. Tries to calm herself and even her breathing – the last thing she needs is for her face to look red and puffy when Daryl picks her up later.

 

He'll know.

 

But maybe he'll know either way.

 

Her fingers still tremble when she lifts onto her tip toes and pulls a book from the top shelf, tucked away with others she'll never need again. It feels new and heavy, but the spine is cracked and there are multi-colored post it notes peaking out between the pages at the top. There's a row of babies on the shiny cover, and her heart aches at the sight, at the weight of the book in her hands.

 

For a long moment, she simply holds it, petrified except for the rise and fall of her chest as her tears slowly run dry. She's afraid to open it, afraid of what she'll find. But for the first time in years, she feels the need to _see_.

 

Slowly, like tortuously tearing a band aid off a weeping wound, she opens the book. It naturally falls open in the middle where something is tucked between the pages. Not as a bookmark. But hidden away. Treasured. A memory.

 

It nearly falls to the ground but she catches it with shaking fingers – the faded, crumpled ultrasound picture that she has folded too many times. Her own name stares back at her mockingly from the upper corner, and fresh tears well in her eyes as she trails a fingertip over the small white blotches that make up a baby. Her baby.

 

Her sweet little girl.

 

It feels as if the weight of the loss is forcing her into the ground, and so she sinks down onto the sofa, leaning back until her body has nothing to do but exist. The picture is clutched to her chest as she stares out of the window at the powder blue sky, the flowers she put out on the windowsill blooming in yellow, purple and orange.

 

She doesn't understand why this suddenly hit her so hard. It's been so long. The dust has settled, the aftershocks faded. The pain has gone phantom and the few memories she has are beginning to blur in her mind. The sense of grief that's lodged deep in her heart never really went away, easily triggered by the smallest of things.

 

But never like this.

 

The clock on the wall _ticks ticks ticks_ relentlessly as the time passes, as Carol's mind wanders.

 

In the end, she thinks it's because of Daryl. Because of this happiness and lightness she feels with him. It reminds her, after so long, that the loss she suffered was more than that of a child. She didn't just lose her little girl. She lost an entire chapter of her life that she can never repeat in the future. She never wanted to. But now, with him in her life, she's starting to mourn the loss of that chance.

 

Eventually, she puts the ultrasound back between the pages of the book, sets it back onto the shelf. Maybe the best idea would be to donate it. To toss it away. But she can't part with it. Not yet.

 

 

 

When Daryl picks her up an hour later, she can see that he knows something is up. She showered and bothered with make up, tried her best to hide the puffiness of her face and the redness in her eyes. Pulled a red dress from her closet that she bought on a whim last year and was never brave enough to wear before.

 

But none of that seems to draw Daryl’s attention away from her soul. His eyes may drift down to the tight dress for a second, making her squirm in a good way, but then he's eying her with concern as he leads her out of her apartment with a hand pressed to the small of her back.

 

He _knows_.

 

But he never says a word. Instead, he presses a chaste kiss to her lips, so shy that it tells her he's sill weary of this new development. Still afraid that she might push him away. The same fear simmers inside of her at all times but it's rooted less deep than his.

 

She's quiet, doesn't want to talk too much out of fear that her voice might break and the events of the afternoon might catch up with her. But the last thing she wants is for Daryl to feel like she doesn't want to be here.

 

As they sit in the back of the dark movie theater, she seeks out his calloused, warm hand and entwines their fingers. Rests her head against his shoulder and not a minute later he has his arm wrapped around her to hold her close.

 

He seems to understand her so well, and instead of the Indian restaurant they'd considered going to, he suggests grabbing something to eat in the park instead. Out there under the star-speckled sky, the silence between them feels easy and light. In a restaurant, it would have torn them apart.

 

They sit by a fountain after, his arm around her waist, and it's almost enough to make her forgot the pain that still throbs deep down.

 

Almost.

 

 

 

She knows she won't have the strength to push him away tonight. That once she feels his arms tight around her and his lips against hers so eagerly, she'll beg him to come inside with her, to hold her. To make her forget.

 

The sensations of his hands and lips all over her body would be a welcome distraction but it's not how she wants this to be. She can't let them take that step for the wrong reasons and so she tells him good night in the downstairs hallway before he can offer to walk her up to her apartment.

 

He doesn't push, just nods and leans down to press a kiss to her forehead. Nothing more.

 

She sighs, curls her hand into the smooth fabric of his blue shirt, allows her eyes to flutter shut as she holds on to him.

 

_Ya gonna be all right?_ he asks, a low, hoarse murmur, his palm warm against her cheek.

 

A sad smile curls her lips.

 

_Yes,_ she promises on a sigh, leaning up to press her lips to his just lightly before pulling away.

 

 

 

That night, she lays awake in the dark, the hum of the new fan she bought almost soothing where it stands in the corner of the room.

 

But sleep won't come easily, and every time she closes her eyes she feels a cold fist around her heart. Slowly, though, the veil of grief that came so suddenly eases a little. Over the years, she has learned to push away the pain she feels at the loss she suffered.

 

When she finally drifts off, it's restless and filled with bloody, sharp memories.

 

 

 

She doesn't remember much in the morning, and all that remains is a dull ache in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, and it's not even a super long chapter to make up for the wait. But now that I'm back to my normal work schedule, I don't have a lot of time and/or energy to write. But summer holidays are coming up here and then things usually slow down at work again, so I hope to get back to writing sooner rather than later.
> 
> This was a bit more on the angsty side, but there's things we need to get through before we get to the good stuff :)
> 
> Next up: Netflix and...chill?


	24. the ugly truth

She seems better. happier. After their date the other day, he'd been scared she'd pull away. There'd been so much sadness clinging to her like a shadow that it was physically painful not to hold her closer. But he wasn't brave enough to risk that yet, because why would she want him to comfort her? Maybe she didn't want comfort at all.

 

And there was this constant, pestering fear that he might be the cause of her sadness, that she was beginning to pull away from him. It stirs fear in his own veins even now - the thought that he is about to lose the best thing this universe has ever allowed him.

 

But she's here now, her head a gentle weight against his shoulder, her legs tucked beneath herself on her comfortable sofa. Her hand is curled around his, thumb brushing lazily over his knuckles. He pulls her a little closer, running his fingers lightly up and down her arm. Sometimes, when he hits the right spot, she shivers a little and he feels goosebumps under his touch. He remembers those spots, seeks them out every now and again.

 

Outside, the sun is beginning to set. The room is lit only by the TV screen and a small lamp in the corner, and the smell of the Indian food they'd ordered still hasn't quite vanished. He kicked his shoes off earlier, his socked feet resting on her coffee table and this feels so good, so right, that he never wants to move. It's terrifying to admit but this is how he wants to spend every night. Curled up here with Carol by his side.

 

The screen turns black then and the credits start to roll. Daryl twists his stiff neck a bit, waiting for a crack that never comes.

 

_Wanna start the next season?_ he asks, looking down at Carol. _Ain't tired yet._ Even if he was he'd try to prolong leaving for as long as possible.

 

She smiles up at him with her big blue eyes, her freckles more and more pronounced these days. The sun had been glaring mercilessly all week and it has left its mark. Her shoulders are a little red, and so are her collarbones that peak out of her shirt But he tries hard not to stare at them for too long. _There is not next season,_ she says, moving her hand away from his only to press it to his chest a second later.

 

His brows furrow and he stares at the familiar names on the screen as quiet music plays. _What?_

 

_That's it for now,_ she explains, leaning back just enough so that she doesn't have to crane her neck to look at him.

 

_What'ya mean that's it?_ he asks, still staring at the screen. The unresolved ending still throbbing in his veins. _That ain't the end._

 

She looks at him like he just said the most amusing thing and if he wasn't so damn confused he'd be mesmerized by that little smirk she gives him. _No, but the next season isn't out yet,_ she explains, the press of her hand against his chest warm and firm and all too distracting.

 

This is just ridiculous. _Well, when does it come out?_ he asks, more than slightly annoyed by this. He's gotten too used to their regular Sunday marathons, and he was more invested in the damn story than he'd like to admit.

 

_Next year,_ Carol replies with pursed lips, and that's really the worst answer she could have given him.

 

_Next year?_ he repeats, eyes wide and drawing a chuckle from her. _We gotta wait 'til next year?_ She nods, gently patting his chest. _Ya kiddin', right?_

 

She shakes her head and sighs, burrowing further into him until her knees press into his thigh. _I wish I was._ She is quiet for a moment as the menu screen appears again, and he resumes the brushes of his fingers against her arm. _We can watch something else, though,_ she suggests, looking up at him again. _I'm not tired, either._

 

He's relieved to hear that. Even though he knows neither of them is here right now just to watch the damn show, it was a simple enough reason to spend more time together and he wasn't ready to leave. He never really is. _What'ya have in mind?_ he asks with a smile he can't hold back. He's surprised his cheeks don't feel sore from all the smiling he's done since he met Carol.

 

They're probably past the point of needing an excuse to spend time together, but he's grateful for every single one.

 

_Hmm..._ Carol absent-mindedly trails her fingertip over his chest, his heart picking up speed in response. _Have you seen Breaking Bad?_ He thinks the name sounds familiar but he shakes his head. That earns him a scoff from Carol. _Do you know_ anything _?_ she asks, nudging his ribs and he squirms because it tickles like hell. Carol doesn't miss that, a twinkle in her eyes promising that she's willing to use this weakness to her advantage. _It's about a chemistry teacher who starts cooking and selling Meth,_ she explains then, and his stomach churns a little. _Kind of spins out of control._

 

_Nah, thanks,_ he mutters, avoiding her gaze and staring at the TV screen instead. _My brother used to take that shit, don't need ta be reminded of that._

 

Merle took a lot of shit over the years but those times he was high on Meth were the worst. He'd be paranoid as hell, lock himself up in the trailer they shared, accuse him of stealing his worthless stuff, tell him he was being followed. He'd wither away in front of Daryl’s eyes and there was nothing to be done about it.

 

_I'm sorry,_ Carol says softly. His brother never really came up much in conversation before. He doesn't really want to talk about him, either. Not now. Mercifully, Carol doesn't push the matter any further. _Well, how about Lost?_ she asks instead. Again, the name sounds familiar but he can't remember anything else. He shrugs. _It's about a plane crashing on an island and the survivors have to figure out what's going on. It's a mystery. There are polar bears and a smoke monster._

 

She sounds overly excited about it, nearly bouncing on the sofa but he just stares at her in disbelief. That sounds like it's completely fucked up, and it doesn't really spark his interest much.

 

It must be pretty obvious because Carol rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. _Okay, that's a no._ He snorts at the defeated sound of her voice. She ponders something for a moment, and then her eyes light up like fireworks on the fourth of July. _Have you heard of Stranger Things?_ Now he's completely lost. But when he shakes his head, Carol suddenly looks pleased. She frees herself from their embrace to grab the remote. _I think you're going to like that,_ she tells him with a broad smile, and all he wants to do is pull her back against him.

 

_What's it about?_ he asks instead, using the opportunity to shift his tired body on the sofa.

 

Carol tilts her chin up at that, typing in her Netflix password with practiced ease. _I'm not telling you because you're just going to say no to everything and we'll end up watching some alien conspiracy documentary on the History channel._ She sounds half serious and half amused at that, mockingly narrowing her eyes at him.

 

_I've seen those, they ain't bad,_ he admits. Since he usually just flicks through random channels, he's gotten caught up on those more than once. He faintly remembers some guy with the most awful hair talking crap about ancient societies and alien abductions. _Load o' crap, but not bad._

 

Carol's fingers freeze on the remote and she stares at him for a moment. _Shut up,_ she chuckles eventually, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

 

 

 

An hour later he is thoroughly confused and has that goddamn Toto song stuck in his head. But none of that matters because Carol is sitting in his lap, her knees bracketing his thighs and her hands curled into his hair.

 

She's kissing him long and deep, drawing a moan from his throat that sounds nothing like him. By now, he can't hear the ominous music anymore, and they missed at least the last ten minutes of this episode.

 

But all he hears are Carol's soft little pants, the hum that vibrates through her body when he deepens the kiss, when he wraps his arms tightly around her until her breasts are flush with his heaving chest.

 

One of his hands has found its way under the cotton of her shirt, feeling the smooth expanse of her back and the dips of her spine until he reaches the clasp of her bra. He lingers there for a moment before retreating again, not wanting to push his luck.

 

But Carol seems to have a different idea, pulling away from the kiss and sucking in a deep breath. _Please,_ she murmurs hoarsely, and he doesn't have time to ask what she wants before she lowers her head to the crook of his shoulder and presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to his thrashing pulse point.

 

He swallows a groan and tightens his hold on her. By now he's painfully hard, throbbing against the confines of his jeans and she must know, must feel it pressed against her core because he sure as hell can feel how warm she is.

 

_Please,_ she repeats, sucking gently at his skin and rocking ever so slightly against him - letting him know she can feel perfectly what an effect she has on him.

 

He's not quite sure what she's asking for or if she's ready for what she's asking. So, instead of unclasping her bra he slips a hand between their bodies and cups the weight of her breast in his palm. Instantly, she grinds herself down against him, and his eyes roll into the back of his head in response.

 

_Fuck, Carol!_ he gasps, squeezing his hand around her breast as well as the one on her hip. She feels so soft and warm against him, whimpering when he drags his thumb over the stiff peak that's straining against her shirt.

 

He wants to kiss her there, wants to feel more of her pale, perfect skin. But he's still afraid, still terrified she'll run away from him in disgust - even now as she grabs desperately at his shoulders and grinds herself against him, muffling her own moans in the crook of his shoulder.

 

_Daryl,_ she sighs, leaning back and pressing her forehead against his. The tip of her nose nudges his own and she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth that makes him silently beg for more. Her eyes are dark, her lips pink and swollen and she's never been more beautiful than she is now. _Please,_ she repeats, and after a second of gathering his courage, he nods.

 

His hands tremble as he grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. He tosses it away, not caring where it lands. All that's important is Carol, looking at him almost shyly. He tries no to stare as he unclasps the powder blue lace bra, but it's hard, so hard not to look down at the perfect swells of her breasts and the dusty rose nipples that spill into his palms.

 

He kisses her instead to distract himself, a little too eagerly because she yelps and nearly tumbles backwards off his lap. But he catches her, pulls her back against him and the friction and pressure of her core is too much. He's about ten seconds away from coming in his pants like a goddamned teenager and this can't be how this goes.

 

She deserves so much more.

 

He breaks the kiss reluctantly, and when she mewls he feels pride swelling in his chest. But he moves quickly, peppering kisses down the line of her jaw and seeking out that spot behind her ear. The grip on his shoulders tightens then, and she arches her back, tilting her head to give him more access.

 

His hands have found her breasts again, cupping them and mapping them out but he barely spends a minute kissing his way down her throat and over her collarbones before he wraps his lips around a perfect nipple, sucking the warm skin into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it.

 

Carol sucks in a sharp breath and circles her hips against his. He can't hold back this time, bucks up into her to seek some relief to the unbearable pressure.

 

_Daryl,_ she moans, the sound of his name the sweetest thing he has ever heard and so he does it again. Thrusts up against her with small movements, nothing too harsh, and she grinds down against him perfectly, clutching him to her breast as he sucks and nibbles and breathes against her creamy skin.

 

Every time he has thought about this, he imagined her like this. Flushed and pale and soft. Keening and sighing. Melting in his arms. He has never known this. Only ever learned to do things quick and rough. But he needs this to be different.

 

_Daryl?_ she says softly then, gently tugging at his hair. He presses one last kiss to the side of her breast before looking up at her through the messy strands of his hair. She miles at him, the sight of it making his stomach clench. With the most gentle of touches, she tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, slowly drags her fingers down his scalp. _Take me to bed,_ she breathes as a shudder wrecks his body, and his throat goes dry that same second.

 

_Ya sure?_ he asks, drawing circles against the small of her back. He wants her words to be genuine so much, needs her like he needs air. But he doesn't want her to agree to this because she feels like she has to, because she thinks he expects it from her. That couldn't be further from the truth.

 

He can't believe he gets to hold her and touch her like this. It feels like a dream and the greatest privilege.

 

Maybe she can sense his worries because she brushes her thumb over his forehead,,smoothing out the crease there. _Yes,_ she whispers, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips before reaching for his hand.

 

He follows her to the bedroom with sweaty palms and a violently beating heart. She must know, because she squeezes his hand reassuringly, tugging him along until they stand at the foot of her bed.

 

She lingers for a moment, her back to him, before she switches on the small lamp on the bedside table, bathing the room in a gentle, orange glow.

 

When she turns around to face him, the sight of her nearly takes his breath away. Her fingers twitch nervously against her thighs and he doesn't want her to feel ashamed or embarrassed. Slowly, he breaches the distance between them, cupping her cheeks in his hands. _Ya so beautiful,_ he murmurs before leaning down to kiss her, tracing his tongue along the seam of her lips and she opens up so eagerly.

 

Her hands clutch his hips, using his body as leverage to pull herself flush against him. His length presses against her abdomen and he can't help but buck into her a little, relishing in the sigh it draws from her, swallowed by his kiss.

 

Clever fingers trace the waistline of his pants all the way to the front, and just as he pulls away to bury his face in the crook of her neck and press his lips to the tender skin there, she quickly unbuckles his pants. For a split second he wants to reach down and stop her, ask her once again if she's sure. Doubts still cloud his mind even as she opens the button and slowly, oh so slowly drags his zipper down.

 

The moment her hand brushes against his hard length, all words turn to ash in his mouth except for a grunt of her name. His lips meet hers almost bruisingly, too much pent-up desire bursting to the surface. His hands are a little too rough when he grabs her breasts again, but she arches her back, leans into his touch and moans his name in a way that tells him he's doing something right.

 

Not that he has a clue what he's doing. It's been so long since he's been with anyone, and never ever like this. All he can do is go by instinct and pay attention to her. To every gasp and squirm, to the slightest change in her touch as she pushes his pants over his narrow hips.

 

He steps out of them in such a rush that he nearly stumbles, but Carol's arms curled around his neck hold him steady enough. His own hands reluctantly move away from the softness of her breasts, smoothing down the quivering plane of her stomach until he reaches the waistband of her sweat pants. There's a little string that holds them up and he fumbles with it, hissing a curse into the urgent kiss.

 

Carol smiles, pulls away. Her lids look heavy, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed a deep red. Holding his gaze, she reaches down to untie the knot. His eyes follow the cotton of her pants as it slides down her legs and pools around her bare feet. All she's wearing now are plain, black panties, clinging to her curves in the most beautiful way.

 

_Come here,_ she breathes, holding out her hand and he takes it without a second of hesitation.

 

When their lips meet again, it's softer. Gentler. There's no more rush now that they're here, half-naked in each other's arms. He allows one of his hands to sifts through the wispy curls of her hair, soft as silk, humming into the kiss like it's the best thing he ever felt. It is, after all. He's melting into her arms, into the tenderness of the moment, allowing it to cloak him in something fuzzy and warm he's never known.

 

But when Carol's fingers begin to unbutton his shirt, first one, then two then three buttons, a familiar panic surges through him. He's not ready to show her. To talk about it. But he doesn't want to pull away, either. Not now. It seems unfair considering she's almost entirely naked in front of him, but even that guilt isn't quite enough to make him feel brave enough.

 

Carefully, slowly so that she won't feel rejected, he reaches down between them and gently tugs her hands away. Entwines their fingers instead and pulls away from the kiss. He has to steal one more, though, pressing it to the corner of her mouth before resting his forehead against her. He's pulling her closer to him instead of pushing her away and although there's a flicker of doubt in her hazy eyes, she doesn't question him.

 

Instead, she takes a slow step backwards. He follows, matching his steps to hers, nearly tripping over the bundle of clothes on the floor. Carol grins at that, sparkles in her eyes and her warm body against his.

 

As she sits down on the edge of the bed, she pulls him with her. His heart thunders, his body pushing and pulling in all directions but he follows her instead. Watching as she moves back to lay down in the middle of the bed, her comforter smooth and cool to the touch as he follows. Letting go of her hands, he supports his weight on his elbows, crawling over her as she curls her arms around his shoulder to guide him up.

 

Her legs fall open enough for him to rest between them, and she feels too good pressed against the length of him like this, nothing but thin cotton in the way, that he can't help but rest more of his weight on her body, pushing her lightly into the mattress, grunting at the pressure it creates.

 

It's like a switch has been flicked. It starts with her tensing beneath him. Her gasp doesn't sound like any of the others. It's more quiet. Almost frightful. She doesn't arch up into him, and her arms around his shoulders suddenly feel stiff.

 

He freezes, too. Waits for her to give him a sign. Then, slowly, she turns her head and presses a kiss to the side of his throat. Wraps her legs around him and pulls him further into the cradle of her thighs.

 

With just his briefs and her underwear, he can feel the damp heat of her instantly, and his instincts take over, blood boiling hotly as he groans and grinds himself against her, desperate to feel her wrapped around him.

 

It was the wrong move. Suddenly, her hands aren't curled around his shoulders anymore. Instead, they worm between their bodies, palms pressing flat against his chest.

 

_Stop,_ she gasps, pushing and scrambling beneath him like she's trying to escape. _Get off me!_ His heart skips a beat and he moves away from her as quickly as he can, sitting back on his knees. She, however, moves even quicker. Crawls up to the headboard of the bed and pulls her knees to her chest, arms curled around them, her breath quick and labored and her eyes wide as she gasps.

 

_Carol?_ He feels like someone poured a bucket of ice water over him, his limbs heavy as lead as he sits there in the middle of her bed not knowing what the hell to do. She looks utterly terrified for a moment longer, staring down at her hands that are still clasped around her knees, the white of her knuckles pushing through.

 

_What's wrong?_ he asks, feeling stupid and idiotic but what else can he do? His voice is quiet, much higher pitched than usual, breathless even. _What did I do?_ She gulps down air, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her forehead to her knees. _Fuck,_ he mutters, moving one tiny bit forward. She doesn't move any further away and he feels relief at that. _Carol?_ Her name is just a soft, breakable whisper. Delicate as fractured glass.

 

_I'm sorry._ He can barely make out the words at first, muffled by tearless sobs and gasping breaths. _I'm so sorry,_ she repeats and then she finally looks up at him again, eyes red, lip quivering.

 

_What'ya sorry for?_ he asks softly, at a loss for anything else to say to make this better, to make _her_ feel better. In his mind, he replays the last minute over and over trying to figure out what he did wrong. _Shhh,_ he hums when she makes a breathless sound, and he awkwardly reaches out his hand in a desperate need to comfort her before dropping it again. _Ain't gonna hurt ya,_ he promises, and the face she makes at those words nearly breaks his heart. She looks miserable, the saddest smile he's ever seen curling her lips. _We ain't gotta do anything._

 

He should have asked again to make sure. Should have put a stop to this before they ever made it to the bedroom. He should have known it was too soon. Should have been gentler, more careful. Less selfish.

 

_But I want to,_ she interrupts his thoughts, whispering into the dim light that basks her in a gentle glow. _I want you._ If he wasn't so damn terrified and helpless right now her words would make him crumble. _So much,_ she adds hoarsely, wiping a tear off her cheek and slowly uncurling her arms from around her knees. When her fists fall softly against the sheets, though, they're still balled tight. _I thought I was ready. It's been so long, I-_

 

_We got time,_ he interrupts her, edging a little closer but keeping enough space between them not to make her feel caged in. He knows all about feeling like that. _Ain't no rush. Can wait._ He pauses, watching the tension slowly easing from her body. _Don't wanna hurt ya._ He didn't mean for his voice to break, for his throat to tie up but it does and Carol doesn't miss it.

 

She shakes her head ever so slightly. _You didn't. It felt good._ He doesn't know how one person can be so brave but she surprises him once again when she reaches out and takes a loose hold of his hand. _You feel good._ It's feather light, barely there, and maybe that's all she can give him now. _But I felt...,_ she begins, her eyes glossy and distant like she's stuck in a nightmare or a distant memory. _It's like he was suddenly there, like- I'm sorry._

 

He remembers what she mentioned about her husband. The assumptions he'd made. They are all confirmed now, and a much deeper well of dark secrets opens before him in the way her skin pales and her eyes brim with tears.

 

_This ain't ya fault,_ he says determinedly, biting back the almost uncontainable anger at the man who hurt her like this. Who left invisible scars that run so deep. _Whatever that bastard did to ya, it ain't ya fault._ It's a lesson that took him most of his adult life to learn. As a kid, weak and helpless, he used to tell himself it was his own fault that his daddy beat him. That he was too loud, too useless, that he should have done this or that or should have just stayed out of the way. It always came down to him.

 

Only much later, years after the last whip of a belt lashed his skin, did he slowly realize that it was ever, not once, his own fault. Maybe she needs to know this more than he ever did.

 

She sighs, giving his hand a light squeeze that feels as hopeful as a sunrise after a storm. _Oh, Daryl,_ she breathes, leaning towards him.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he murmurs, reaching out his free hand and hoping that he isn't pushing too far. But she doesn't pull away. Her eyes fall down to his hand and she seems to hesitate for one moment but then she crawls over to him, bare and soft, and he wraps her up in his arms and pulls her down onto the soft bed with him. Side by side, their faces just a bare inch apart. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.

 

_Can you stay tonight?_ she whispers, curling her hand into the collar of his shirt where she left it unbuttoned. There's a tremor to her voice that tells him the panic and adrenaline has not yet faded entirely, but she's here, in his arms, her heartbeat slowing down where it's pressed against his chest.

 

He nods slightly, nudging the tip of his nose against hers. _Course._ It's more than he thought he'd ever be allowed a few minutes ago. They both fall silent then, breathing in each other's air. Carol's eyes flutter shut as exhaustion seems to overtake her, and he watches the shadow that her lashes cast on her skin, the way the light reflects in her silver hair.

 

Even though he is looking at the beauty of her, there's a malignant thought in his mind. It grows and grows until he can't ignore it anymore.

 

He has to tell her. There's no way around it if he wants this to go somewhere and that's all he wants. A future with her. And even if neither of them might ever be ready to truly share what they endured, they need to at least be honest about it. He can't keep it a secret forever. There might never be a right time, but maybe now isn't entirely wrong.

 

With a shuddering breath and a shiver that wrecks his body, he curls his fingers around her wrist, gently steering her hand down until he can slip them under his shirt. _What-_ Carol begins, her eyes fluttering open in surprise. But before she can finish her question he has pulled her hand around him, his entire body going rigid when her fingers brush over one of the worse scars. Thick and ragged. _Oh,_ Carol gasps, her eyes suddenly wide. Tears are shimmering in the pools of blue a second later as she follows the line of the scar up to his shoulder blade.

 

Nobody has ever touched them before.

 

_My old man,_ he rasps in explanation, fighting every urge he has to run away, to push her hand away when she presses it between his shoulder blades. He's grateful that she's not skimming all over the web of scars, but he's terrified of all the questions she might ask. This is already a bigger step than he was ready for. Talking about what happened – he might never be able to do that.

 

_Daryl,_ she whispers, edging closer and he shudders against her, squeezing his eyes shut as tears begin to sting in them. His hand finds her bare hip, squeezes just lightly, enough to ground himself.

 

_Ain't no rush, right?_ he presses, his voice breaking as he holds back a sob. It all comes crushing down on him in this moment, decades of pain swept under the rug. Here in her arms, it all hits him like a tidal wave. Much like she suffered before.

 

_No,_ she replies. When he opens his eyes, she leans in closer. Burrowing into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin. He holds her there as their breathing slowly calms, as exhaustion takes over.

 

He doesn't ever want to let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned into a real monster. But I've been excited to get to this part for a while now, because I feel we can really move forward now.
> 
> I'm sorry if this caused more frustration, but I felt like while there was more than enough sexual tension between them, there were still too many things left unsaid for them to take any major steps forward. I was a bit weary about Daryl revealing his own scars, but I decided to go with my gut feeling and I hope it feels right.
> 
> Next up: the morning after


	25. one step forward

She wakes up slowly. Comfortably. Isn't torn from the comfort of sleep by a nightmare or the ring of her alarm. Instead, she slowly gains consciousness. Registers the gentle hum of the fan, the mild breeze on her bare skin. Feels the warm weight of a hand on her hip.

 

Just barely, she opens her eyes. The first rays of sunlight are flooding the bedroom, rosy and mellow. Daryl is laying on his side facing her, the sunlight catching in his hair. He looks so peaceful, breathing evenly and burrowing deeper into the pillow a moment later with a muffle little sound that makes her smile.

 

Her eyes still feel a little puffy and her throat a little dry. Memories of last night flash through her mind in bold red and with sharp edges.

 

The fear she felt, the utter panic, when she felt Daryl’s weight pressing her down into the mattress, had taken a hold of her so quickly and so all-consumingly that she barely had a second to stop herself before she pushed him away. The rejection and fear in his eyes had been heartbreaking, and she's so grateful that he stayed, that he's here now just a few inches away from her with his hand on her hip, holding her close.

 

There's still a respectable distance between them. They're not close enough for that panic to take a hold of her again - and she's not sure it would now, even if he was closer. Maybe what happened last night was just her body's initial reaction to having old, bad memories dragged up. She's not actually afraid of him. Knows he would never intentionally cause her any pain.

 

If they tried again now, she might be ready to take a few steps forward. If they took it slow. If he allowed her space.

 

But they shouldn’t. Not now, not in the wake of everything that happened last night - no matter how much she wants to. And _God_ , does she want to. Wanted to last night. Genuinely, desperately. Craved to feel him against her and inside her and cursing herself and Ed for making it impossible.

 

Maybe, though, it wouldn't have happened even if she hadn't been haunted by the ghost of Ed. Of all the times he took what he wanted. Maybe, Daryl would have faced similar demons.

 

She can still feel the echo of his scars on her fingers, and she angrily curls them into the sheets between them. So many things make sense now. It's like she was given the final piece of the puzzle and suddenly this intriguing, kind-hearted man makes more sense than he ever did. Her heart aches for him, for the childhood he must have lost. She wants to ease the pain but knows from experience that nothing really can. No matter how gentle ad loving she is with him, it won't erase what happened, what dug itself into his very soul and was beaten into his skin.

 

She sighs softly, edging an inch closer to him. His hand on her hip tightens in response, and he stirs from his sleep quicker than she did. He's a light sleeper, that's for sure. But he doesn't seem deterred by the fact that he was woken up. When his eyes open he looks surprised for a moment to see her, but then a sleepy, lazy smile curls his lips and his thumb draws a gentle circle just above the jut of her hip bone.

 

_Mornin',_ he drawls, voice thick with sleep.

 

It's instinct when she reaches out for him to brush a strand of hair off his forehead. His eyes flutter shut and to see him respond to her like this, comfortable and content, makes her heart flutter. It's been so long since her affection was truly appreciated and it's almost addictive to draw that response from him again.

 

_Morning,_ she breathes, resting her hand lightly against the side of his throat. She can feel his pulse thrumming there, a little too fast and she leans in closer, can't stop herself from pushing into his space.

 

_Still early,_ Daryl murmurs lowly, nodding towards the window where the curtains flutter in the breeze of the fan. He must have gotten up to turn it on over night, must have spread the thin cotton sheet over their partly bare bodies, too.

 

She hums, curling her hand more firmly around his neck until she can slide her fingers into his hair. It feels so soft to the touch, and when she drags her blunt nails lightly down his scalp, she can feel a groan vibrating through his body.

 

Heat pools in the pit of her stomach at the sound, the muscles in her abdomen clenching.

 

Even in the pale light she can see his eyes darkening, flickering down to her lips for a second. She wants to breach these last few inches between them and kiss him so badly, but after last night, she's not sure where they stand. Initiating it suddenly seems like a wall she can't climb.

 

But he takes some of the weight off her shoulders when his hand on her hip slowly begins to move. Inching up to the curve of her waist and back down at a slow pace, with enough pressure not to tickle her. _This all right?_ he asks in a low murmur, and she wants to cry at the care in his voice.

 

All she can do is nod, lips parting on a sigh as his hand begins to stroke up her side, over her ribs, fingertips grazing the side of her breast. Briefly, she's reminded of how naked she is, but he doesn't allow her time to feel self-conscious. He edged a bit closer to her, his nose nudging hers and she helps him along, pulls lightly at the hair she's got her fingers curled around until they're so close that her heart skips a beat.

 

_This all right?_ he repeats, sounding so terrified of doing something wrong or taking a step too far. She doesn't tell him yes, doesn't nod. Instead, she offers him a brief, sad smile before pressing her lips to his. Allowing her eyes to flutter shut, she hums against his mouth, waiting a second for him to respond.

 

When he does, they melt into each other.

 

The kiss stats slow and chaste, almost shy as they both ease back into it after last night's scare. However, it doesn't stay that way for long. After barely a minute, Carol's tongue sneaks out to trace the seam of his lips, eager and curious and he opens up instantly. After that, the kiss grows languid and deep enough for her to breathe a moan against his lips.

 

His hand on her hip begins to flex, almost like he wants to pull her even closer but isn't brave enough to do it, yet. Deciding to show him how much she really wants this and him, Carol makes the choice for him. Slipping her hand around his shoulder, she uses that for leverage. Pulls herself flush against him, his chest pressed to hers, and curling her leg lightly over his.

 

The kiss changes instantly. Daryl grunts quietly, his hand pressing her to him firmly. Everything is more desperate now, but still just as slow as before. There's no rush, but so much need that's becoming harder and harder to contain.

 

She wishes she could feel his chest against hers, broad and warm with his skin bared. Fingers twitching with the need to slide under his shirt but she won't push him. But the need to feel more of him is clouding her mind and so she starts to slide the heel of her foot along his calf. When he bucks against her in response, neither of them can hold back a moan. He's growing hard against her, pressed to her abdomen, nothing but the thin cotton of his underwear in the way.

 

_Carol-_ he chokes, pulling away from the kiss but she doesn't want him to question this or her intentions. Without a moment of pause, she presses a kiss to his jawline, trails her lips down his throat. As she suckles at the skin there, he seems to gain some confidence, groaning and sliding his hand to her thigh. His calloused fingers against her bare skin feel so good that she arches her back, pushing herself against the hard length of him that's trapped between them.

 

She yelps a little in surprise when he hitches her leg up over his hip, and he freezes instantly, fear burning in his eyes that he made a mistake. The grip of his hand loosens already but she panics for a whole different reason than last night. Doesn't want him to pull away now and so she shakes her head, tilts her hips towards him - that small move pushes her core directly against his, and she has to draw her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle her moan when he rubs against her so perfectly.

 

_It's okay,_ she whispers, circling her hips against his again and again, creating a delicious friction that tightens the coil that's slowly forming in her core.

 

_Jesus,_ he pants, smoothing his hand up her thigh until he palms the round of her ass and holds her there, rolling his hips into hers in a slow, gentle motion that feels better than anything has the right to feel.

 

She has never felt like this before. Every nerve ending in her body is singing with pleasure and she craves for more. More, more, more. Arching herself into him, she hopes he understands. Isn't brave enough to tell him what she wants. It seems too bold, something Ed would have punished her for.

 

But she pushes thoughts of him away, instead focuses on Daryl's warm body against her and the feeling of his hand as it begins to inch up her waist again, gentle and slowly. Everything feels lazy, like this is a Sunday morning they get to spend like this instead of a Monday morning with places to be and things to do.

 

All of that is pushed to the back of her mind, though when his hand finds her breast, cupping the warm weight of it in his palm. Instantly, she pushes herself further into his touch, moans into the crook of his neck when he drags his thumb over her nipple. Her body feels like it's on fire, slowly melting away.

 

But it's not enough. Which is what makes it all the more frustrating to admit that neither of them is ready to have sex right now. Willing? Yes. Aroused enough? God yes. But if last night served any purpose, it's that they can't force this when the time isn't right - no matter how much they both crave it.

 

She doesn't want to end this, though. Is suddenly overcome by the desperate need to make him feel good.

 

She knows he doesn't expect her to do anything. Knows that she doesn't owe him anything. But still there's the residual fear that he might lose interest eventually, that he _does_ expect her to make up for leaving him hanging last night.

 

She tries to push those thoughts away when she runs her hand down his side until she reaches his hip, pressing her palm there as he continues to push himself against her.

 

She wants to make him feel good, wants to touch him and feel him fall apart and it's been so long since she felt this way, since this was a genuine desire and not a means to an end or something she was forced to do.

 

Without worrying too much about whether or not she'll even be any good at this, she slips her hand between them, cupping his length. He's warm and hard, throbbing against her touch and it draws a groan from him that makes her skin tingle.

 

His hand on her breast squeezes a bit harder, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine.

 

_Carol!_ he gasps, and she pulls away enough to look up at him through her lashes. His cheeks are flushed, eyes so dark she can barely make out the blue in them, and there's so much curiosity and hesitation in his eyes that she can't help but lean in and kiss him softly.

 

_I want to,_ she reassures him, breathing the words into the kiss as she experimentally strokes her hand along the outline of him. He bucks into her instantly, so responsive to her touch that she wonders how long it's been for him.

 

She sets a slow, lazy pace, tracing him from root to tip and allowing her fingers to slip slightly under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his abdomen quiver as she follows the hem of his briefs.

 

He is panting into the kiss, pulling away only to bury his face in the crook of her neck. She cranes her head back to give him room, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to trail warm, open-mouthed kisses from behind her ear down to her collarbone.

 

_Fuck,_ he hisses, her core clenching at the hoarse sound of his voice. Her heart beats a million miles a minute, only increasing when his hand slips away from her breast and around to the small of her back.

 

His fingertips dip just barely beneath the cotton of her underwear, enough to make her whimper and stroke him at a slightly firmer pace. Maybe she's going too slow, maybe she's doing this all wrong just like Ed always told her. But to touch him like this, to draw these slight hiccups in his breath and stutters of his hips from him, that makes her feel powerful and desirable. Wanted.

 

He doesn't move to touch her any further just yet, simply holds her tightly against him as his lips suck lightly at her pulse point. The flush that's been growing on her cheeks gleams all the way down to her chest now, making her feel like her blood is beginning to boil in her veins. Every exhale is ragged, every inhale a struggle.

 

When Daryl lightly sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh where her neck meets shoulder, making her whole body shudder, she uses his moment of distraction to her advantage. Feeling as nervous as she did back when she first got this close to a boy so long ago, she quickly curls her fingers around the hem of his briefs and tugs them down. He springs free immediately, brushing her hand and she barely gives Daryl a second to react before she curls her hand around the base of him.

 

_Carol-_ he grunts, pressing his forehead to her shoulder for one sweet second as she strokes him slowly, allowing her thumb to brush over the tip of him. But he pulls back all too soon to look at her, so much desire in his eyes that she is about one second way from pushing him onto his back and taking him inside of her, all caution be damned.

 

His eyes flutter shut with each measured stroke, his hips pushing into her touch almost by instinct alone. The warmth of his ragged breaths feels damp against her cheek, and she's just about to lean in and seek another kiss when he makes a strangled sound. _Stop,_ he hisses, forehead creased like he's in pain.

 

Her heart falls and she instantly feels the sting of rejection, but as she moves to pull her hand away he shakes his head, pulls her entire body tighter against his. _No, stay,_ he pleads, her mind spinning as she tries to understand.

 

His thumb begins to draw circles against her tailbone, warm and soothing. She watches him swallow, force his eyes open. _Not like-_ he starts, voice breaking. He can't seem to articulate what he wants, at a loss for words. _I wanna..._ His hand inches a little lower, over the curve of her hip, just slightly taking the cotton of her underwear with him. _Can I?_ he asks, sounding terrified and pained and she nods in an instant. Every muscle in her body tightens with anticipation just at the thought of him touching her.

 

She moves her hand away from him to help him push her panties down, kicking it off until it disappears somewhere beneath the sheets. She's completely naked now, everything below her waist hidden under the sheet. For a moment, Daryl’s hand lingers against her bare hip. It seems like he's not quite sure what to do, hesitating.

 

If he waits any longer, she might explode, though, is already vibrating with need and so she decides to be brave, to take the first step. _Please,_ she whispers against his lips, curling her hand around him again at the same time she presses a desperate but slow kiss to his lips. He grunts, responds instantly, and after a few strokes of her hand he seems to lose some of his doubts.

 

Slowly, he inches his hand from her hip over the quivering plane of her stomach. He moves so slowly, edging closer and closer to where she needs to feel him. Hitching her leg a bit higher over his hip, she arches into him, tries to guide his hand down, strokes him a little faster and a little less gentle.

 

_Daryl, please,_ she whimpers into the kiss, feeling herself ready to grab his hand and shove it down to where she's wet and throbbing. He mutters a curse and then his hand moves down quickly, cupping her. With a deep, throaty moan, she grinds herself down against him, her hand tightening around him – so much so that she's momentarily afraid she might have hurt him. Quite the opposite, though, he sucks her bottom lip between his and sucks lightly, thrusting his hips into her touch.

 

For a little while after that, they move fluently against one another. Carol pants into the deepening kiss, rocking herself against the palm of Daryl's hand as he begins to trace the outline of her with curious fingertips. It's becoming hard to maintain a rhythm as she strokes him, her whole body tense and on the edge.

 

She tilts her hips a little, desperate for more friction, and his palm catches her just right. She gasps, tearing her head away from his and arching her back as a jolt of heat shoots down her spine, tightening the coil in her core even more.

 

_I can't-_ Daryl mutters, pressing his forehead against her chest. His lips feather along the inside of her breast, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there as he pushes the tip of his finger against her for a brief second, like he's asking permission.

 

She tries to tell him yes but all that leaves her mouth is a strangled sound. Instead, she grinds down against him, trying to suck him in and he doesn't make her wait after that. Slips his finger into her slowly until he has nothing left to give and Carol can't help but squeeze her eyes shut. Softly, she rocks against him, grinding against the heel of his hand in the most perfect way and shifting him inside of her. Eventually, he starts to move, shallow strokes of his finger that make her nerves prickle.

 

Her own hand resumes the steady strokes on his hard length, speeding up a little. His breathing is ragged against her breast, lips curling around the stiff peak of her nipple and sucking hard.

 

_Ain't gonna-_ he grunts, soothing the tip of his tongue over the tender skin. _Won't last._

 

She smiles hazily. _It's all right,_ she reassures him, trailing her thumb over the tip of him slowly, again and again before moving down again with a firm touch.

 

He makes a strangled sound, slipping a second finger into her. She feels full already, sucks in a surprised gasp. The muscles of her core tighten around him as he increases his pace, thrusting in and out of her in an unsteady rhythm. Faintly, she wonders how much experience he has – he seems a little unsure what to do, but it doesn't matter. Pressed against him like this, she feels nothing but good.

 

_Are ya- 's this all right?_ he asks, a low murmur, confirming her suspicion that he doesn't do this very often. It's a sweet thought that makes her melt into him a little more.

 

_Yes,_ she moans, feeling the release she so desperately seeks beginning to take over. Over and over, she grinds herself against him, and Daryl seems to pick up on that, adding a little more pressure even as his fingers push deeper into her at a faster pace. _I'm- Daryl!_

 

His lips curl around her nipple again, teeth rasping just slightly over the overly sensitive flesh and combined with the friction of his hand and the stretch of his fingers, she crashes over the edge. Clenches around him and bites back a cry as her back arches and her muscles contract.

 

_Shit,_ Daryl grunts, his fingers still moving inside of her, even as she squeezes around him.

 

The last contractions of her release still wash over her when Daryl suddenly pulls his hand from her, clutching his hand to her hip – fingers warm and wet but she doesn't care. Yelps a little when he pulls her flush against him, the length of him pressed tight against her abdomen and her hand falls away as she moans, clutching his shoulder, instead.

 

He thrusts against her a handful of times, hard and needy and it sends a wave of excitement through her that makes her throb with renewed desire. But there's no time to dwell on that. With his face buried between her breasts and a bruising grasp on her hip, he falls apart.

 

More than anything, she wants to help him through it. Considers sneaking her hand back between them and curl her fingers around him to guide him through his release. Wants to kiss him deep, swallow those grunts he makes as he pulses against her, thrusting weakly against her as the warmth of his release coats her belly.

 

She just holds him close, presses a kiss to the crown of his head. Eventually, the rocking of his hips slows down until he's motionlessly pressed against her, pulsing with aftershocks. His grip on her hip loosens, a warm, calloused palm smoothing down to her thigh to hold her close. Surprisingly soft lips find the side of her breast. Brushing the lightest of kisses there.

 

Carol allows herself to indulge in the moment. Her body feels sated and boneless, her heart slowing down, sweat cooling on her body. Tenderly, she sifts her fingers though Daryl’s hair and he hums contently, pulling back enough to look up at her.

 

There's no need for words in this moment. They say all they want to say when their lips meet in a kiss that's as slow and lazy as the one that started all this earlier. There's no rush, no urgency. When they part, she rests her forehead against his, presses her palm between his shoulder blades. The cotton of his shirt clings to his back and she can feel the muscles rippling with every breath he sucks in.

 

She never knew it could feel like this. Wrapped in Daryl’s arms, she feels safe, warm, cared for. Everything she never felt in a situation like this before. Her lips curl into a smile that he mirrors, the sight making her heart clench. The last thing on her mind right now is fear or running away.

 

Eventually, though, she pulls away, just enough to turn towards her bedside table and reach for the box of tissues she keeps there. One glance at her alarm clock tells her they still have half an hour before she has to get up and get ready for work. Just the thought of having to leave this bed today makes her ache when all she truly wants is to stay here with him all day.

 

Pulling a tissue from the box, she begins to clean herself up as best she can, wiping the evidence of Daryl’s release off her skin. One glance at him is enough to make his cheeks flush, and he ducks his head a little, his fingers flexing against her waist.

 

_Sorry 'bout that,_ he mutters, suddenly so shy when they should really be past that point by now.

 

Carol softly shakes her head, tossing the tissue into the small waste basket by the side of the bed before pulling herself close to Daryl again. _It's okay,_ she whispers, nudging the tip of her nose against his. He's trembling against her, his body wrecked by small tremors and she hesitates for a moment before soothing her hand slowly up and down his spine. _Are you all right?_

 

He nods, his throat bopping as he swallows deftly. _'m fine,_ he replies hoarsely, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers splay over her waist. With a gentle touch, he tucks her against him, her face nuzzles against his chest where she can feel and hear his heart pounding.

 

_I wish we could stay here,_ she whispers, bringing her hand to his front and pressing against his stomach, feeling the warmth of him seeping into her skin.

 

_Me, too,_ he admits, and she's beginning to drift off again when she feels his lips against the crown of her head, a sleepy smile curling her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, ehm.... this ended up being.... longer than I intended.... Where did the 'plot' go? Must have gotten lost along the way, but we'll get back to that :)
> 
> Next up: one final trip to the attic


	26. opening up

_You're shittin' me, right?_ He can't help but sound pathetically baffled. With his eyebrows raised so high they threaten to blend into his hairline, he stares at Carol and back at the heavy, large armchair. Velvety fabric and adorned legs and all.

 

Carol looks unbothered as she carries one of the last few boxes out of the small compartment. _No,_ she quips, groaning a little as she bends to put the box down with the rest of the things they plan to donate and sell. Or rather: that _she_ plans to donate and sell because he's mostly clueless about that and she seems to have a whole well of ideas about who might be interested in any of this.

 

 _That ratty old thing?_ he asks in disbelief, waving his hand almost comically at the chair. It doesn't look like it's in any way damaged, but it also looks like it's been up here for a century and largely responsible for the stale smell that hovers in the warm, humid air.

 

Carol rolls her eyes and swats lightly at his arm before propping her hands against her hips. _It's not ratty,_ she declares, and for a moment he's distracted by the shimmer of her glistening skin. Quickly, though, he tears his eyes away, nudging the toe of his boots against one of the chair's legs.

 

 _Could be,_ he scoffs, staring at it intently in an attempt to understand what exactly Carol likes about it so much that she actually wants to keep it. Then again, her pile of trinkets and odds and ends to keep for herself is eclectic at best and worrying at worst. _Smells like shit._

 

That earns him a frustrated groan and he can't help but chuckle a little at that. _I'll clean it,_ she explains like it's the most obvious thing - and it better be - before reaching for his hand and tugging him against her side. _Come on. At least you won't have to get rid of it._ Apparently that's supposed to warm him up to the idea of carrying this thing into her apartment instead of dragging it to the elevator and leaving it on the curb for some other idiot to pick up. Not that Carol's an idiot. She's just a little... wondrous sometimes. In the best way. She's an open book and yet a riddle he might never truly solve.

 

Softly shaking his head, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, drawing patterns against her upper arm with the tips of his fingers.

 

 _Ya don't wanna keep that thing, too, do ya?_ he asks, nodding towards the large dresser they have completely emptied out by now. It's massive and worn, dark wood that must have once been perfectly shiny. It also looks heavy as shit and is one of the last few remaining items in here. Neither of them have yet come up with a plan how to get it down the stairs without breaking their backs.

 

Carol looks up at him with a twinkle in her eyes that momentarily sends a flash of panic through him. _I might,_ she muses, and he's about to groan in defeat when she starts grinning, her freckled nose crinkling and damn she's so beautiful. _But I wouldn't know where to put it,_ she says, patting his arm reassuringly. Leaning her head against the same spot a second later, she points at the god-awful lamp that's still standing lonely in a corner where cardboard boxes full of clothes have once been. _Not that, though. It's hideous,_ she laughs and he joins in, leaning his head down a little until he can feel the wispy curls of her hair tickling his jawline.

 

 _Well, guess y'ain't completely outta ya mind,_ he murmurs, trailing his hand from her arm down to her waist and lingering there.

 

She turns to look up at him, barely more than an inch of space between them, and her eyes immediately flicker down to his lips, making his stomach clench. _I'm perfectly sane,_ she whispers, her breath damp and sweet against his lips, and suddenly he's not sure they're talking about her taste in furniture anymore.

 

He doesn't want to dwell on that thought, though, and so he breaches the remaining bit of space between them and presses his lips to hers. They're soft and warm against his own, and she sighs as he nudges his nose against hers before deepening the kiss. Her hands come up to curl around his neck, fingertips trailing up to sift through his hair and drag against his scalp, sending a jolt down his spine. His own hands curl around her waist - she's so small and frail, but so strong at the same time and he'll never tire of holding her like this. Will never stop being awestruck that she allows him this, that she's the one to trace the seam of his lips with her clever tongue and silently ask for entrance.

 

He forgets about time for a while. Loses himself in her kiss, in the way she hums against him. Tightens his hold on her to pull her closer to him, his hands roaming the expanse of her back, trailing the ridges of her spine and the curves of her waist and hip.

 

Eventually, she pulls away with a heavy sigh, but he can't help himself and leans down for another kiss, no more than a peck, before resting his forehead against hers. Still incredibly close, it's easy to feather his lips over hers, not really a kiss anymore but a touch so light he never thought he'd be capable of.

 

Her lips curve into the sweetest smile, eyes fluttering shut. _Daryl,_ she breathes, smoothing one hand over his shoulder and pressing it over his heart.

 

 _Hmm?_ he hums, his hand finding the side of her throat and feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath the delicate skin.

 

 _We should keep going if we want to finish this today,_ she explains half-heartedly, nodding towards the remaining boxes. Her voice is raw and hoarse enough to make him tremble.

 

She's right. They've wasted enough time up here and are so close to getting everything ready to sell and donate. _Yeah,_ he agrees on a whisper, but making no move to pull away. It doesn't go unnoticed by Carol and she opens her eyes, meeting his gaze. _Come 'ere,_ he murmurs, pressing one hand flat against her back and pulling her against him, swallowing her light gasp with his lips.

 

* * *

 

 _See? It fits,_ Carol says proudly, huffing and puffing like Thomas the fucking tank engine. She's got her hands pressed to her thighs and is bent forward a little, sucking in desperately needed air.

 

Daryl doesn't feel much better. His back aches and his arms feel sore from carrying this damn chair all the way to her apartment. Not to mention the stale stench of it has burned itself into his nostrils - probably forever.

 

She's not wrong, though. The chair looks good in the corner by the balcony door, and it almost matches the ancient-looking coffee table she owns.

 

 _Looks all right,_ he says breathlessly, leaning against the wall for support and damn near knocking his head into a bookshelf. He's getting old.

 

Carol dismisses his meager enthusiasm with a wave of her hand. _Do you want something to drink?_ she asks instead, already heading towards the kitchen and hell yes, he's not going to say no to that.

 

As Carol noisily grabs two glasses for them, he wipes pearls of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The sight of her plush, comfortable sofa is all too tempting, but he's not going to soil it with his dusty, stained work clothes.

 

 _Water?_ Carol calls from the kitchen, still a little out of breath.

 

He barely manages to say yes before the ring of his phone interrupts him, vibrating against his ass and he startles for a moment before pulling it out of his back pocket.

 

Merle's name on the screen is enough for his stomach to drop and his mood to turn foul. Without thinking twice, he dismisses the call, tucking the phone back into his pocket.

 

Carol returns with two tall glasses of water, and he takes it with a muttered _thanks_. Gulping down the cool liquid, he can feel his body temperature adjusting a little. Draining half the glass in one gulp.

 

 _So, I was thinking we-,_ Carol begins, but then his phone rings again, silencing her.

 

Daryl mutters a curse under his breath, slamming the glass down on the coffee table hard enough to make Carol wince.

 

 _Sorry,_ he mutters, pulling the phone out only to quickly press the red button again. This time, though, he doesn't even manage to tuck it back into his pocket before it rings again.

 

 _Bastard,_ he hisses, shaking his head and turning off his phone completely. When he looks up, Carol eyes him curiously.

 

 _Is everything okay?_ she asks, taking a slow sip of water before leaning back against the dining table.

 

He sighs. This isn't a conversation he's ever in the mood for. But she deserves to know. If there's anyone he's willing to share this with, it's her.

 

 _'s my brother,_ he explains. _Merle._ Shrouding, he shoves the phone away, trying hard to sound indifferent. _Probably in trouble again._

 

Carols brows furrow as she sets down her glass. _Trouble?_

 

A part of him is afraid to talk about his brother, about his family. Nobody has looked down on him because he's a Dixon for a long time - he moved far enough away to make sure of that. He's also pretty sure Carol knows he didn't grow up all fancy and proper. But revealing the grizzly details to her seems like a gamble with her trust.

 

 _He's a fuck up,_ he sighs eventually, staring down at his boots. There's very little Carol knows already, but maybe it's time to change that and be honest. _Drugs. Shady business. That kinda thing._ Carol doesn't look shocked or disgusted when he chances a glance at her. Quite the opposite, she's listening intently. _Can't get his shit together an' always comes crawlin' to me for help,_ Daryl continues, desperate to make it clear to her that he was never involved in his brother's mess. _Can't help him, though. Not really._

 

Not the way Merle wants to, anyway. He learned that over time.

 

Carol's expression is soft, the smile she gives him drenched in sadness. _But you want to._

 

Daryl looks at her for a long moment, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Her words ring true and echo in his mind over and over. She's so right, knows him so well and he wonders if she even realizes that.

 

 _He's my brother,_ he sighs eventually, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. _Only family I've got left._ The word family never meant much to him, even back when his momma was still alive it was a frail concept. Something other kids had, but never him.

 

 _He ain't a bad guy, deep down,_ he continues, the words suddenly spilling from his mouth. Words he's never spoken before. There's truth to it - he's not just saying this to reassure Carol and paint a gentle picture of his brother. Merle can be a nasty asshole and has any wrong views on the world. He tends to lash out, say things that hurt, but he doesn't enjoy cruelty the way their old man did. _Got a decent heart, or whatever._ Suddenly, Daryl feels foolish and soft for saying any of this.

 

But if he doesn't say this now, he might never find the courage again.

 

 _Just... we didn't have an easy time. Growin' up._ It should be easy enough to connect the dots after he showed her his scars the other day. They haven't talked about it since and he's grateful for that. To discuss the details of that - he'd rather have her stare at his scars in broad daylight.

 

 _He's older than me,_ he continues, his mind - not for the first time - wandering off to dark places. _Took the blunt of it for years, I think._ Merle never said a word. For the longest time, Daryl didn't even know what was happening to the big brother he idolized so much as a kid. He must have suffered the same abuse - maybe even worse.

 

 _Then he left._ There's a somberness to his voice. He keeps it short, doesn't dwell on the details. On the many times Merle came and left back for different reasons – juvy, the army, prison. He doesn't tell her about how when he returned, Merle would always tell him about the great big world out there - planting hopes and dreams in his little brother's head that could never be fulfilled. _And then it was just me an' the old bastard._ Nervously, Daryl kneads his hands. Never once in his life has he talked about this. He's pretty sure Denise has figured him out, but even with her he can't unravel his past. _He must've known he was leavin' me there to..._ He trails off into silence, his chest tight and his palms clammy.

 

The moment Merle left for the first time, he sentenced Daryl to years of abuse until eventually he grew too big and the old man too frail to keep it up.

 

 _What about your mother?_ Carol asks softly. He only now realizes she's taken a few cautious steps forward, still a few feet of space between them – but he can feel the familiar sense of suffocating sneaking up on him.

 

Daryl's lips turn into a tight-lipped, humorless smile. _Our house burned down when I was a kid. She was in it,_ he explains, blurry memories of smoke and screams and all eyes on him flickering in his mind.

 

Carol is quiet for a long moment. _I'm so sorry,_ she breathes then, and when he looks up, trying desperately not to let the weight of everything that happened to him wear him down, she looks so tender.

 

 _Was a long time ago,_ he shrugs, his voice breaking a little. Swallowing the lump in his throat and choosing to ignore the sting in his chest, he takes a bold step towards her. _Anyway. Merle never did shit for me. I ain't gonna-_

 

 _Daryl,_ Carol interrupts him, crossing the distance and resting a warm hand against his cheek. _He's your brother._ Her eyes are crystal clear, so full of compassion that it nearly takes his breath away. _It's okay to care. Even if he's not good for you._

 

Something trembles in her voice, something he knows she's not ready to talk about. Something that's buried just as deep as his own demons. He won't pressure her, and right now he's too frail to comfort her.

 

They are quiet for a long moment, her thumb brushing softly against his cheekbone. It's soothing and sweet and he leans into her with a sigh. Can feel his eyelids flutter shut again and again like she's singing him a lullaby and chasing away his nightmares if even for a second. Eventually, though, she pulls away a little bit, soothing her hand down his throat to rest against his shoulder. _So, do you want to drag those donation boxes down to the car?_ she asks with a wink, instantly lifting his mood.

 

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, whispering against her petal-soft sin. _Nothing I wanna do more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter, but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway :)
> 
> For visuals: this is [the armchair](http://oi63.tinypic.com/2wn0mdf.jpg) and this is [the dresser](http://oi64.tinypic.com/8zlf5u.jpg).
> 
>  **Next up:** we're going back to the park


	27. the secret spot

There are birds chirping in the powder blue, spotless sky above them. The canopy of rich green leafs shelters them well from the afternoon sun, but the light reflects on the water that cascades down the weathered fountain. It's a gentle, soothing melody.

 

The smell of summer is rich in the air, warm and ripe. Beneath them, paint is chipping off the bench, green peeling off to reveal a coat of red underneath. Wildflowers grow everywhere around them in all sorts of vibrant colors, cocooning the fountain and filling the clearing. The large meadow that hides this spot from everyone else walking past sways a little in the breeze, whispering alongside the wind.

 

_It's so beautiful here,_ Carol sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder. She smells like sun screen and strawberries, her hair tickling his jawline. The blue dress she's wearing exposes her long, slender legs, the shadows cast by the leafs above dancing on her pale skin. Her bare feet move back and forth against the high grass, her sandals kicked off. With her hand curled around his forearm, she's tucked against him, and the moment couldn't be more perfect.

 

_Yeah,_ he breathes, no eyes for the fountain or the trees or the birds. _Glad ya like it here._ His voice is hoarse and low, and she doesn't miss it. Never misses a thing. Looking up, she gives him a mischievous smile, the sunlight twinkling in her blue eyes – rivaling the summer sky.

 

_Do you show this to all the girls?_ she teases, making him scoff.

 

Just the idea of him with someone other than her is beyond ridiculous. He gives her his best smirk and a theatrical sigh. _Yeah, gotta be careful I don't get 'em all mixed up._ Carol laughs at that and he can't help but join her. She nudges her nose against his chin, her nose all crinkled and he tightens his hold around her waist a little. After a few moments, they both grow quiet, breathing in the same air and keeping their gazes locked. _Ain't nobody but you,_ he confesses in a more serious tone, his voice quiet. _Never was._

 

She takes a deep breath, forehead crinkling just slightly. _Never?_ she asks, trailing her fingertips lightly up and down his bare arm.

 

He shakes his head. Fading memories of a few faceless women he allowed close enough to scratch an itch flickering through his mind. _Not like this,_ he breathes, cradling her face in his hand. She leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering shut. Eventually, though, she pulls away, giving him one last glowing smile before tucking herself back into his side and reaching for her iced tea. _How's that stuff?_ he asks, eying the pink liquid. The crushed ice in the milky plastic cup is beginning to melt, but it crunches all the same when Carol takes a sip.

 

_Delicious,_ she hums, licking a pearl of the cool drink from her bottom lip – his gaze lingers there, soft and plumb and so inviting. _Yours?_

 

He almost misses her questions, too enthralled by the sight of her and when he tears his gaze away and meets hers again, the light smirk tells him it once again didn't go unnoticed. _Best I ever had,_ he declares, grabbing his own cup of regular peach iced tea. There'd been a new stand by the big fountain selling all sorts of iced teas. From regular flavors to more curious ones, and Carol had all but dragged him there.

 

_Just like me,_ she quips, sending a hot flush into his cheeks.

 

_Stop,_ he murmurs, dipping his head a little. All of this sometimes seems to come so easily to her. The flirting and the teasing, just being around him seems natural to her when all his life people have struggled in his presence, not knowing what to make of him. With a sigh, he holds out his cup to her. _Ya wanna taste?_ he asks softly. She'd offered him a sip of her odd strawberry concoction earlier and he'd declined with raised hands.

 

She smiles, gentle and easy before whispering _yes_. But she doesn't take the cup from him. Instead, she leans in much, much closer, and before he fully comprehends what her intention is her lips are already slanted against his. Her tongue slides into his mouth a second later, making him hum deep in his throat and his hand clutch at her waist.

 

All too quickly, though, she pulls away, tracing her fingertip over her lower lip and leaving him feeling all too eager to lean in and steal another kiss.

 

_And?_ he asks instead, barely recognizing the low tilt of his own voice.

 

The corner of her mouth curls upwards, and she leans in a bit closer again, close enough for him to taste her sweet breath, close enough for him to worry he's going to spill his damn drink. _Best I ever had._

 

That draws a snort from him, her own giggle filling the otherwise serene clearing. _Smooth,_ he murmurs, setting down his cup.

 

Carol does the same, their drinks abandoned when her lips lightly brush his again. He can still feel her smirk when she whispers _I know_.

 

* * *

 

There are way too many people in this store and Carol sighs in frustration as she pushes her way through a gathering of old ladies in the cereal aisle, chit chatting away and blocking the way.

 

Maybe they should have just gone to their usual grocery store, but this one has a much better array of fresh vegetables and she really wanted those for the stir fry.

 

She spots Daryl heading her way, pushing the cart and resting his forearms on the handle. _Did you get the rice?_ she asks as she drops the chocolate bars into the cart, joining everything else they need for dinner tonight.

 

_Yeah, wasn’t sure which-_ he begins, pointing vaguely at the box of rice he chose before he spots the chocolate and his brows disappear into his hairline. _That's a lotta chocolate,_ he chuckles.

 

_Don't judge,_ Carol replies, pushing into his space as they head down towards the frozen foods. _I need it for baking,_ she explains, already salivating at the thought of those caramel brownies she plans on making tomorrow.

 

She can feel him staring at her, and when she turns to look up at him her suspicion is confirmed. _Course ya do,_ he murmurs with a smirk he tries to bite back, looking all too smug.

 

He earns himself a light nudge in the ribs for that. _Shut up. I'm not that bad,_ she declares, pouting a little but not mentioning the fact that she'll only be needing half of the chocolate for the actual brownies. But he doesn't need to know that.

 

_Ya keep tellin' yourself that,_ he says in the most frustrating way, but the witty reply she's got ready on the tip of her tongue is silenced by the ring of his phone.

 

Daryl's face falls the second he pulls it out of his back pocket and looks at the screen. Eyes dark, he dismisses the call, tucking the phone back and pushing the cart with a little more fervor.

 

_About Merle again?_ she asks carefully, not wanting to push the matter too much but needing him to understand that he can talk to her if he wants. If it helps in any way. He nods briskly, his face still a little pale and sour. The other day, he'd eventually called Merle back. As it turned out, Merle had been hiding from the police when he called before – and they got him in the end for possession of a substantial amount of various drugs. She'd seen him blink away the tears when he spoke to the officer on the phone.

 

He doesn't look much better now, still seems just as unwilling to pull himself out of his denial. _Are you going to post his bail?_ Carol hopes that he won't, but he'll understand it if he does. Merle had apparently begged and pleaded and it wasn't the first time he'd asked Daryl for this, either. She doesn't want him to play along to his brother's tune the way she...

 

_No,_ he replies then, sounding determined. For a little while, they walk silently side by side, people pushing past them, standing in their way – the usual. There's one woman who seems to have never seen a supermarket before, looking absolutely amazed by a display of melons and calling over to her friend to take a look at how marvelous they are.

 

Daryl snorts at that and Carol is glad to see the hint of a smile on his face. He meets her gaze, his expression warming up a little. _So, what else do we need?_ he asks, nodding towards the freezers.

 

There's nothing they particularly need from here, but as Carol takes in all the frozen foods behind the glass, she's suddenly struck by an idea. _We should get some eggos,_ she suggests with a wink, already beyond excited to watch the last three episodes of Stranger Things later after cooking together. Just the thought of spending the evening with him fills her with so much warmth and tingling excitement that she has to keep herself in check and not bounce like a little girl. _For accuracy._

 

Daryl shakes his head but grins all the same. _Anything ya want,_ he says, and he sounds so sincere that Carol's heart hiccups a little in her chest.

 

_Anything?_ she asks with a teasing lilt to her voice, trying to be brave. Thinking about all the things she truly wants. All the the things she wants so much more than eggos. All those things she's still so afraid of.

 

Her question conjures a blush onto Daryl's cheekbones and he looks down at the cart, his fingers fidgeting against the handle. _Stop._

 

Even without seeing it, she can hear the smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is a bit short, but my muse and motivation haven't been doing so well lately :/
> 
> **Next up:** Daryl learns to love the armchair


	28. trust and control

_Ain't no way it's that big._ He's eying her fingers with raised brows as she shows him the size of the spider she says is currently lurking in her bedroom. The door is closed, a towel stuffed in front of the narrow slit at the bottom.

 

She'd called him almost hysterically - not that he wouldn't have come up anyway. He was already shredding his work clothes, ready to call it a day. Ready to spend the next few hours with her. Curled up on her sofa, watching that crime series she forced him to watch about a bunch of pretentious British people stuck on an island and getting murdered one by one. Creepy poem to go along with it and all.

 

_It is,_ Carol insists, a little out of breath and he has to bite back a small grin. Reaching for the door handle, she instantly grabs his hand, sucking in a hissing breath. _Don't!_

 

_Thought ya wanted me to take care of it?_ He can't exactly do that through the closed door. Ain't like the thing's gonna come flying out to devour them alive once he opens the door.

 

She eyes the door nervously, and her fingers feel clammy against his forearm. _Just... Shut the door behind you?_ It's all but a beg and he's genuinely surprised to see her react this way. He ain't a big fan of spiders either but he never took her for someone who gets hysterical over the sight of some insects.

 

_Ya that afraid of 'em?_ he asks softly, not judgmental in any way.

 

She sighs, looking frustrated in a way that tells him there might be more to this. _I'm really not, but this one is huge,_ she explains, letting go of his arm and looking a little defeated and embarrassed when she doesn't have to be.

 

Majority of people are creeped out by them, after all.

 

_Fine,_ he says determinedly, squaring his shoulders. _Gimme a minute._ As he reaches for the door handle again Carol hurries away to the living room, and he looks after her for a second before stepping into the room and quickly shutting the door like she asked.

 

He takes a first look around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The bed is neatly made, burgundy red pajamas folded on the thick quilt, flowers blooming on the window sill. How the hell is he even supposed to find this thing without rummaging through her stuff like a cre- _Jesus!_ he yelps, high-pitched and way too loud and adrenaline pumps through his veins as his heart skips a beat.

 

There it is. Sitting on the wall next to the bedside table. Right there for him to see.

 

Damn. Carol had not been exaggerating. The thing _is_ massive, roughly the size of his palm and he shudders at the sight in mild disgust.

 

He makes quick work of releasing it out the window, biting back his own nerves as he watches it move in the vase he uses to catch it with. _Gross,_ he mutters as he shuts the window, wiping his hands on his pants and heading out to the living room.

 

Carol is standing in front of the closed balcony door, pale arms crossed in front of her chest. _Told you so,_ she says with a light smirk that tells him she heard his pathetic screech all too well.

 

He shrugs, plopping down into the huge armchair. _That was some freaky shit._

 

She nods, tilting her head. _Comfy?_ she asks, sounding condescending enough to let him know she hasn't forgotten all his complaints about the damn chair. Turns out it's comfortable as hell and now that she's cleaned it, it only vaguely smells stale and dusty. Ain't like he's gonna bury his face in it.

 

_Hate to admit it but yeah, it is,_ he says, giving her the pleasure of having been right. She smiles brightly, looking so radiant that it takes his breath away every time. Then, as gracefully as ever, she walks over to him, sitting down on his lap. _Hey,_ he breathes as she nuzzles her nose against his, bare feet dangling just above the thick, green rug and her arms curling loosely around his neck.

 

_Hey,_ she replies, just a whisper. Softly, she threads her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull, sending a series of small shivers down his spine. _Thanks. For the spider._

 

_'s all right,_ he murmurs, inhaling the sweet scent of her but he barely has time to finish before she's kissing him. Slow and gentle at first, matching the soothing circles her fingers draw against his scalp. But quickly, the kiss turns into more. Deeper and more languid, drawing a moan from deep in his throat when she slips her tongue into his mouth and edges herself closer to him.

 

He can feel her breasts pressed against his chest, warm and soft. His hands hold at the swell of her hips, fingers itching with the need to slip under the cotton of her shirt to feel her bare skin.

 

Carol seems to think the same thing. She parts from the kiss with a mewling little sound that tugs deep in his abdomen, and he damn well nearly clutches her to him when she begins to move away. But her expression is soft, her lips pink and damp and then she's reaching between them to pull her shirt over her head.

 

He swallows hard at the sight of her breasts right in front of him, heaving against the pale green of her bra. The soft thud of her shirt landing on the floor sends a rush of excitement and nervousness through his body that he barely knows how to handle.

 

Carol looks at him nervously, almost shy even though he has seen her before. Has touched her before and _fuck_ he so badly wants to feel her again. Before he regains enough control of his brain to actually do anything other than sit here like a complete idiot, Carol reaches behind her back, unclasping her bra.

 

It falls away silently and his mouth goes dry. _Carol?_ he croaks, eyes flickering between the perfect peaks of her breasts and her eyes, meeting his.

 

_Hmm?_ she hums, her fingers fidgeting against her thighs.

 

_What'ya doin'?_ he asks, all breathless and shocked. He wants her, _god_ he wants her so bad. But he has no clue what suddenly spawned this - worries that maybe in some fucked up way she feels she has to repay him for the favor he did her. And he's so damn worried after what happened last time.

 

Since then, they've fallen into a comfortable routine. Stolen kisses, fleeting touches. He'd be the happiest man alive if that was all she could ever allow him.

 

But he's afraid, too.

 

Carol leans forward, pressing her lips just below his jawline and following the bone with open-mouthed kisses. _What do you think?_ she breathes, warm and damp against his suddenly overheated skin. His hands clasp her thighs, lingering as she nuzzles her nose against the spot behind his ear.

 

Oh, he knows exactly what this looks like. But he needs to know if this is really what she wants. Isn't sure they can survive another moment like last time. _I-this...,_ he mutters, swallowing the lump in his throat and feeling himself hardening within the confines of his jeans. _Ya- shit!_ he hisses when she smooths one hand down his chest and palms his length. It's bold and demanding and too much, too fast. _Wait!_

 

She instantly stops, leans back to look at him with so much insecurity that it nearly makes him crumble. Her hand moves to his thigh, more innocent but still burning through the denim and into his skin.

 

With a shuddering breath he cups her cheek. _Ya really sure?_ he asks, silently praying that she is. _We ain't gotta._

 

She leans into his touch, turns just enough to press her lips to his palm. _Do_ you _want to?_ she whispers, a ridiculous question considering she's all but sitting on the evidence.

 

_Fuck,_ he huffs, curling an arm around the small of her back and letting his head fall until his forehead presses against her collarbone. _Course I do._

 

Her hand cradles his head, holds him against her. It's gentler, less frantic. _Then I'm sure._ He releases a long breath of relief, lips curling into the slightest smile against her skin and he presses a kiss there for good measure.

 

She hums contently, arching her back just enough to bring herself closer to him. _Just..._ She trails off as he feathers kisses over the constellation of freckles on her skin. _Can you- be...._ She sounds afraid to say what's on her mind and he looks up at her then. Recognizing the fear in her eyes and the question she can't voice.

 

_Ain't gonna hurt ya,_ he promises, sealing it with a kiss.

 

There's no big need for words after that. They melt into each other, his hands roaming the delicate expanse of her back until he can't resist anymore and palms the weight of her breasts. She moans into the kiss, pushing herself into his touch and he drags his thumb over a stiff nipple, trailing kisses down her throat until he can suck the other one into his mouth.

 

She's trembling above him, her hand presses against the bare skin of his abdomen where she slid it under his shirt. His muscles contract beneath the feather light touch, and memories of her hand curled around him nearly sending him over the edge already.

 

This won't last long, no matter how far they're allowing themselves to take it.

 

One of his hands finds her thigh, moves up the coarse fabric of her pants until he finds her core. The heat of her against his palm even through the fabric draws a groan from him that's muffled against her breast. Carefully, he drags his fingers along the seam of her pants - she reacts instantly, gasps and clutches his shoulder with one hand.

 

Rocking herself against him, she makes the most gratifying, breathy little sounds. His free hand follows the dips of her spine, up and down until he stops at her waist and holds her steady. She's panting, her own hand trailing low until she finds his belt buckle.

 

_Wanna move this?_ he murmurs, looking up at her, yet unwilling to move. His hand stills against her thigh, waiting.

 

She looks down at him with swollen lips and dark eyes, a dream come true and a sight for sore eyes. Slowly, she moves away, off his lap until she's standing in front of him. He's about to stand and follow her to the bedroom when she shakes her head.

 

_No,_ she breathes, her cheeks and chest flushed a deep red. Her hands trail down the flat plane of her stomach until she reaches her pants. He watches, mesmerized and nervous, as she unbuttons them and draws the zipper down. When her pants pool around her feet, Daryl takes a deep breath, reaches for his own belt.

 

But he never makes it past unbuckling it, eyes widening when Carol pushes her panties over her hips until they pool around her feet, too.

 

She's a vision, perfection in his eyes from head to toe and he has to force himself not to stare, not to take in the way the sunset bathes the dips and hollows of her body in the most gentle light.

 

She moves quickly then, straddling his thighs and curling her arms around his shoulders until all he can still see is her face. _Let's stay right here,_ she whispers against his lips, a brush so light that it makes his nervous heart beat even faster.

 

Maybe it's easier this way. Less meaningful. Safer. Maybe it's less intimate. He won't question it. Would take breadcrumbs from her - but this is a feast she's offering.

 

One of his hands finds her thigh as she deepens the chaste kiss, sliding further and further up the smooth skin until he finds the slick heat of her. She whimpers into the kiss when he slides his fingers through the wetness there, astonished that she'd react to him this way.

 

He doesn't really know how to do this right, just maps her out until he's familiar with her. What he really wants to do is to touch and feel and kiss her _everywhere_ , but he knows that whatever this is, this is not the right moment for that. He'll take what she offers, won't ask for more than that.

 

Maybe she needs to rush through this before her courage runs out and maybe he should feel the same way. Maybe they need to get this over with, rip it off like a band aid.

 

Only, it doesn't feel like that at all. Like a chore, something to strike off a list. Carol mewls and moans into the kiss, curling her hand into his hair to pull him closer as he touches her, slides a finger inside of her. The thrill of that is indescribable and he lingers for a moment until she rocks herself against him, whispering his name against his damp lips.

 

He barely has time to slide his fingers in and out of her a handful of times before she reaches between them, finishing what he started earlier.

 

Her hand brushes his hard length when she drags his zipper down - whether by accident or purpose hardly matters, it feels too damn good to be true. Clever fingers curl around his waistband and tug, and he lifts his hips enough for her to push the denim down - his boxers caught up in it.

 

The chair is a bit cramped for a moment as he struggles to get his pants down past his knees, holding on to Carol to keep her from tumbling backwards. But eventually, they manage, and his pants pool around his ankles.

 

He wishes he could take them off all the way but Carol doesn't give him time to even suggest it. Instead, she moves closer until the heat of her is pressed snug against him. He hisses a curse under his breath, can't help the way his hips buck into her, sliding himself against her.

 

She shudders, one hand clutching his shoulder and the other reaching between them to curl around his base. For a moment, he's too distracted by the feel of her soft, warm fingers around him, barely a second away from coming all over her hand, to realize what she's doing.

 

But then his tip is pressed right against her and she starts to lower herself, slow and careful and his eyes blow wide.

 

_Carol-_ he gasps, hands on her hips holding her steady and still. _What about-_ He vaguely nods down between them to clarify what he's too damn shy to say, but that was the wrong idea because he's granted a glimpse at her hand around him and the length of him pressed against her core and _fuck_. He groans, drops his head to her breastbone.

 

_We don't need it,_ she breathes, still not moving. _I can't- We don't need it._ There's a hint of sadness to her voice that Daryl doesn't have the strength to pay any more attention to right now. _Daryl?_

 

He gives her an odd mixture between a nod and a shake of his head and even he isn't sure what the fuck he's trying to tell her with it. That he probably could knock her up if that was still a possibility for her? That he's clean? That he hasn't done this in so long he's forgotten all about how damn good it feels?

 

Whatever he's trying to say, she understands. Slowly, oh so slowly she lowers herself down on him, the wet heat of her hugging him so tight that his hands curl into white-knuckled fists by her side to keep himself from thrusting up and burying himself balls deep in her. _Fuck,_ he grunts when she can go no further, pulling back to look at her.

 

He's never done this without a condom before and if he was afraid of coming too soon before he's absolutely sure of it now. This will last a minute if he's lucky but he needs to pull his shit together. Eying Carol, he looks for any sign of discomfort. _Y'all right?_

 

She looks almost concentrated, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth and her eyes squeezed shut. _Yes,_ she whispers, opening her eyes. _Yes._ The way she looks at him nearly has him on the verge of tears. Full of adoration and wonder, as if the fact that he's not causing her any pain is somehow special when it really shouldn't be.

 

Withdrawing her hand, she clutches his other shoulder, ever so slightly rocking her hips forward. _Oh-_ she gasps, fingers curling tight into his skin and he can't help it, has to push up into her at least a little - a shallow, short thrust and he's instantly worried he fucked up but quite the opposite. Carol falls against him with a throaty moan, grinding herself down against him and positively whimpering against his pulse point.

 

_I can't- h_ e grunts, clutching her hips as he pushes himself into her again and again in a slow, deep rhythm. He wants this to last forever, to feel her crashing over the edge while she's wrapped around him like this, but he knows they're quickly running out of time. _Jesus, ya feel so good._ He flushes a deep red at the sound of his own confession but Carol just moans in response - it almost sounds like an affirmation. _Carol-_

 

_It's okay,_ she raps, pressing a kiss below his ear. Her words tug at him, make him thrust a little harder - still so slow and careful, barely shifting himself inside of her - and his hands guide her over him in grinding circles that make her moan. _Please._

 

He doesn't understand her. Doesn't know why she wants him to chase his own release when she doesn't seem close to her own. Wonders if she just wants this to be over or if she genuinely wants to feel him fall apart. Even if she says it's okay, it isn't. He's got to at least try.

 

_It's- oh!_

 

She gasps and grinds down against him when he has half the mind to shove a hand between them. Everything is slick and hot and he feels himself sliding into her- fuck if that's not the best thing he's ever felt.

 

Her breath becomes frantic when he rubs at her, no idea if he's doing this right but she seems to enjoy it, rocks faster and faster until what they're doing starts to drift away from gentle to something more urgent. She's getting impossibly tighter around him, too, her hand curling into his hair.

 

_Shit,_ he groans, feeling the tight coil at the base of his spine ready to snap and when Carol nuzzles her face into his neck and sucks softly at the skin there, he's lost.

 

White heat spreads through his veins and he thrusts up into her much harder than before, holding her steady as he pulses inside of her, finally pushing as deep as he can go, throbbing with his release. Grunting her name into her ear.

 

Weakly, he bucks his hips, still feels the aftershocks buzzing in his nerves all over his body. His hand between her leg has grasped her thigh, and he feels like shit for abandoning her like that. _'m sorry,_ he mutters, his chest heaving as he gulps down much needed air.

 

_Don't be,_ she whispers, smiling against the side of his throat. Her fingers sift soothingly through his hair and along his scalp, the other smoothing down his chest over the fabric of his shirt.

 

He only realizes now that he's still wearing it, that Carol never once tried to take it off. It feels unfair considering she completely bared herself to him. But then her fingers toy with the top button, slow and cautious, and she tilts her head to look up at him.

 

_Can I?_ she asks ever so softly, and he's so mesmerized by the sight of her - flushed and raw and tender - that he nods without a moment's doubt.

 

Slowly, she undoes button after button, revealing more and more of his skin until eventually she reaches the bottom, fingers ghosting over his abdomen. He's softening inside of her but twitches uselessly at her touch anyway and she smiles - _felt_ it, and he wants to kiss her so badly in this moment that he can't stop himself.

 

She yelps a little in surprise when he presses his lips to hers. There's no urgency behind it anymore but still he's eager, trying to tell her everything he can't yet put into words.

 

Her hands push the shirt over his shoulders and he shrugs it off. It seems odd to take it off now, but he instantly realizes how glad he is that he did when he feels Carol's breasts pressed against his bare skin. Like this, skin on skin and still buried inside her, he feels closer to her than he ever thought possible.

 

She parts from the kiss and presses her forehead to his, her breath damp against his parted lips. The moment feels heavy for a second and he wonders if she thinks this might have been a mistake. But then her lips curl into a smile.

 

_The chair survived,_ she chuckles, and Daryl laughs, remembering where they are. If the old witch knew what they've done to her ratty old chair, she'd probably hunt them down with a pitchfork.

 

_It's sturdy. I like it,_ he says with a grin, glad for the thick legs and the soft fabric that doesn't feel itchy against his bare ass. To be honest, he's suddenly grateful that he dragged it down here in the first place.

 

Carol's brows raise, partly disappearing under damp curls of her silver hair. _Oh,_ now _you do,_ she teases, softly shaking her head.

 

Daryl just smiles and nods, reaching up to tuck her hair behind hrr ear and ghost his fingers over the pulse point in her neck.

 

They both fall silent after that. Everything is quiet around them, the room mostly dark now that the sun has gone down. Carol shifts a little on top of him, enough for him to slip out of her. She stays close, pressed against him.

 

_You didn't...,_ he begins, shy and ashamed that he got his release and she did not. He'd try right now to make it up to her, wants to slip his hand back between her legs or kiss a trail down her body, but he's not sure she wants him to. Still doesn't feel confident enough regarding all this to make that kind of a move.

 

Carol, however, just smiles when he trails off into silence, looking down at her bare chest pressed against his instead.

 

_It's okay,_ she promises him again and he so badly wants to tell her that it isn't, that she shouldn’t just expect to give and get nothing in return. But then she leans in until her lips graze the shell of her ear, whispering hotly against the sensitive skin. _We can try again._

 

Her words send a jolt of electricity down his spine. _Shit, I ain't a teenager no more,_ he chuckles, but he might just as well be one considering that her words alone are enough to set fire to his veins again.

 

She pulls back enough for him to see the smile on her face, all innocent and sweet and he sweeps it all away with a kiss that makes her hum into his mouth.

 

As she wraps herself around him, he's no longer worried about her intentions, about whether or not she really wants him.

 

This is real. And it's the most intimate, safe and loved he has ever felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I doubt anyone is going to say this felt rushed after all these chapters. But I hope it felt right to you and not out of the blue. In the next chapter, we will get a glimpse at Carol's reasoning for making this happen so randomly. I hope you enjoyed this ;)
> 
> **Next up:** a(nother) lazy morning in bed


	29. good morning

_Daryl,_ she whimpers, the sound muffled into the crook of his neck. She's clutching his bare shoulders, rocking herself against him. His pants are ragged, his hands curled around her hips, guiding her as she grinds herself against his pelvis, chasing the release she'd been denied before but can almost grasp with her hands now.

 

His thrusts are deep and slow, filling her in a way she never knew and it makes her breath come harder and her chest feel tighter.

 

She never knew this.

 

It's everything she never knew could be a possibility.

 

She didn't plan for this to happen. Had no ulterior motive when she sat down in his lap earlier. The kiss wasn't intended to lead anywhere, but oh so quickly it stirred the familiar fires in her. And in that moment, she made a choice – afraid that if she did not make it then, she never would.

 

Even though deep down she knew Daryl would never hurt her on purpose, she was still afraid it would be like all those other times. That something was wrong with her instead of Ed. That there was some truth to all the nasty things he ever said to her.

 

When she made the decision, kissed him deep and took off her clothes, it was because she knew she'd be in control. She initiated it. Asked for it. Didn't allow it to be a natural progression. She overwhelmed him and took him by surprise and in return, he surrendered to her.

 

And it wasn't like all those other times.

 

And neither is this.

 

Her bedsheets are curled loosely around her calves as she moves against him, takes him inside of her over and over and all she feels is the fullness of the stretch, the way his skin feels damp and warm against her own. There's not even a hint of pain despite a deep ache she knows she'll still feel come morning – but it's a welcome one. One that she cherishes.

 

_Carol,_ Daryl grunts, one hand sliding up her back to cradle the back of her head, pulling her into a kiss that's almost bruising compared to the chaste ones they've shared so often. She moans against his lips, feels his groan vibrating in his chest that's pressed flush against her own.

 

He never once tried to move her off him. Let her cover him from head to toe without any attempt of taking this control away from her.

 

When she'd taken his hand and lead him to her bedroom, their naked bodies silver in the light of the moon, he'd trembled and shivered, nervous and no doubt exhausted. But he'd sought out her lips when she lowered them both to the bed, had smoothed his calloused hands over the planes of her body.

 

She'd been so close already when he slid his fingers into her at a steady rhythm, her own hand guiding him as he circled her where she needed it most. But she'd wanted to feel him inside of her then, had tugged his hand away and silenced his doubts with a kiss before reaching for him and taking him inside.

 

She's so close now. So close.

 

_Please,_ she breathes, asking for something even she isn't quite sure of. Daryl presses his forehead to hers, blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded and then he pushes into her a bit harder, drawing a yelp from her as she clings to him, most of her rhythm failing. The coil in her lower abdomen tightens more than it ever has before, the tension in her body ready to snap and then he shifts a little, groans her name when she squeezes him, and he hits just the right spot to send her crashing over the edge.

 

It tears a cry from her throat that Daryl quickly swallows with a deep kiss. Carol's back arches as white heat shoots through her veins, and she can feel herself clamping down around him, his thrusts harsher now, even deeper than before and then he all but crushes her body to his and groans, stilling as she feels the warmth of his release pulsing inside of her.

 

Slowly, her body begins to grow weak and slack against his, and she pulls away from the kiss with a sigh. Daryl's hips are still bucking up into her, her oversensitive flesh contracting still. His hands, warm and damp with sweat, are splayed against her back.

 

A shy smile curls his lips when their eyes meet, his cheeks flushed crimson even as he ducks his head. Suddenly feeling more tired than ever before, Carol drops her head to his shoulder. Her hands remain on his shoulders, resisting the urge to smooth them up and down his back. She can feel the raise of a thick scar against her palm and does not want to push too far.

 

He might never be ready for that, and she'll accept it.

 

Just like he accepted her. Accepted this.

 

Before, it felt almost like a plunge into icy water. Something she needed to do to move forward. Only when she hit the surface, there was no sharp pain, no impact. It engulfed her, warming and soothing.

 

_Thank you,_ she whispers against Daryl's skin, her eyes already beginning to flutter shut. Maybe it's a ridiculous thing to say, but he seems to understand. Hums quietly as he presses his cheek to the crown of her head and holds her like that. His thighs warm against her lower back, his heart thundering against her own chest.

 

She never knew what it was like to feel this close to another person. This connected. A part of her still waits for the dream to end. For pain to shoot through her, for guilt and shame to eat her alive. But there's none of that here between them.

 

_Are we good?_ Daryl asks after a quiet minute, their breaths slowly calming down. Carol tilts her head to look up at him, nodding.

 

_We are,_ she promises hoarsely, turning to press a kiss to his chest and he sighs, holds her close. _Stay tonight?_

 

Slowly, he shifts backward until he's resting against her pillows. Carol adjusts her position, whimpering when he slips from her, the loss instant. But she stays close, presses the length of her body against his in a way she never though she'd be comfortable with. Her leg slung over his, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. She craves the closeness now.

 

_Ain't goin' nowhere,_ Daryl promises, sounding sleepy and exhausted and when he cradles her into his side, he looks so happy that it almost brings tears to Carol's eyes.

 

 

 

She wakes up slowly. Her eyes fluttering open as the first rays of sunlight fall into the room through the curtains they never bothered to close last night. Her bare skin feels overheated and damp with sweat, the sheets tangled up with her legs and stopping just around her tailbone.

 

Groaning, Carol stretches out her arm, starting to come to her senses and remembering last night. A small, lazy smile curves her lips, but then the flat of her palm smooths over empty sheets instead of a warm chest and she realizes with a start that she's burrowed into her pillow instead of Daryl's body.

 

A sting of sharp pain shoots through her and she sits up, staring at the empty side of the bed. It still feels warm to the touch and she can smell him, the pine and motor oil that always clings to him. Maybe he had to head to work early, she wonders, but one glance at her clock tells her it's much too early for that.

 

He left.

 

Her heart falls and tears begin to well in her eyes. It's like she can't breathe, can't hold herself together and-

 

She jolts at a loud, clattering noise from the kitchen. A hissed _shit_ follows it and instantly the tension leaves her body. With furrowed brows she listens to the rummaging in her apartment, until she can hear the quiet sound of bare feet approaching.

 

Daryl steps into the room quietly and slowly, freezing when he sees that she's awake.

 

_Shit, did I wake ya? h_ e asks, looking genuinely concerned. He put on his boxers, but the rest of him is still bared and exposed, looking mesmerizing in the glow of the sunlight. He's holding a tray, ducking his head a little like she caught him doing something forbidden.

 

_No,_ she reassures him with her voice still a little thick from the tears that threatened to spill before, a soft smile curling her lips. _What's this? s_ he asks, pointing at the tray. In the dim light, she can't make out much, but it looks like it must be heavy.

 

_Breakfast,_ he mutters, clearing his throat. _'m starving, thought ya might be, too._

 

Carol is pretty sure she's still asleep, that all of this is just a picture-perfect dream that's going to be ripped away from her in an instant. But it feels too real.

 

_I am,_ she replies breathlessly, patting the side of the bed as an invitation. Daryl doesn't hesitate, setting the tray down in front of her – his eyes flickering from her own down to her lips and further south lingering on her bare breasts for a second – reminding her she's completely naked. But he collects himself quickly enough for her not to feel too embarrassed, slipping into bed by her side.

 

The tray wobbles a little, but Carol catches it before the two steaming mugs of coffee can spill – the scent filling the room. There are two plates of scrambled eggs, a basket of bread rolls that are fresh from the oven, some fruit, her trusty jar of Nutella, and another plate filed with mostly everything her fridge offered. Cheese and cut meat, jams and preserves.

 

She turns to look at Daryl with her heart so full it's threatening to burst. _This is- thank you,_ she breathes, leaning in to press her lips to his before he can dismiss what he did.

 

They eat mostly in silence, and there's something so natural about being here with him, naked and sated and happy. It's unlike anything she's ever known and yet it feels like her body and soul instinctively know how to accept it. Like something that was meant to be.

 

Some of his shyness lingers, and as sweet as it is she hopes he'll feel comfortable enough soon to shed it entirely. They still have a long way to go, that's for sure. But for now, they are right where she feels they're supposed to be. Sipping coffee and kissing strawberry jam from each other's lips.

 

 

 

Eventually, the food is forgotten.

 

_We can't,_ Carol sighs as Daryl kisses his way down her throat, wet and eager as his hands palm her breasts. She leans into him, eyelids fluttering shut because it feels way too good, her hand resting high enough on his thigh to just barely slip under the fabric of his boxers.

 

He just hums in response, the vibrations of it against her pulse point sending a shudder through her body. There's nothing she wants more than to stay right here with him, curled around each other in bed all day. But life has other ideas and she wants to curse that right now.

 

_We have to work,_ she mewls when his lips travel down between the valley of her breasts, his hands curling around the sheets that are still pooled around her waist, slowly peeling them away. _And I really need to shower._

 

At this rate, she's going to be late anyway. And if Daryl keeps pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of her breast, if his hands keep ghosting across her inner thighs, she's going to have to call in sick. The temptation to do just that is almost unbearable, but she knows she can't. Shouldn't.

 

She hasn't forgotten how she felt earlier, during that brief moment she thought Daryl bolted. It's terrifying even now how crushed she'd felt, and it only served as a reminder not to allow herself to commit too much of herself to this. She'll never make that mistake again.

 

But whatever parts of herself she's willing to share with him, he can have them all.

 

And right now, he's using that to his advantage – even though he might not be aware of it.

 

_I know,_ he murmurs against her breast, sucking at the sensitive, pale skin. Not enough to leave a mark but enough to make her squirm, the headboard pressing into her back, and her hand squeezing his thigh. _Shit,_ he hisses, pulling away and taking a deep breath.

 

Once glance down is enough to prove he isn't any less affected by all this than she is and Carol swallows, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth to contain a whimpering sound. _We should-_ she starts, meeting his gaze and suddenly they're too close again, his breath warm on her face and her own hand suddenly ghosting up his arm.

 

_Yeah, we should,_ he agrees, his nose nudging hers while his hands smooth down the outside of her thighs until he reaches her knees. He lingers there as his eyes turn dark, and Carol waits for a moment, trying to find the strength to stop. _Ya wanna stop?_ he asks, low and gravelly and sending a jolt of heat straight to her core.

 

She knows what he's asking. Knows that it's more than permission he seeks.

 

To Hell with her fear.

 

She shakes her head, and the next second she has her lips slanted against his and his hands curl around her thighs to haul her up against him, the hard length of him pressed right against her core with nothing but the thin cotton of his underwear keeping them apart.

 

Almost frantically, she reaches between them, tugging them down just far enough to free him and he grunts her name into the messy kiss when she takes him inside, faster than she thought she'd dare, but he slides right in and for a moment, they're both still and quiet. He tucks a short curl of her hair out of her face, slows down the kiss.

 

Cautiously at first, she starts to move over him, small circles that drive her mad until finally, he catches up and begins to move, too. Thrusting up into her again and again and soon the fire that drove them to this point is flaming brightly once more.

 

 

 

She's twenty minutes late for work, her hair still damp, and when Lori sees her rushing into the shop, the wide grin on her friend's face is enough to let her know she gave herself away.

 

She doesn't hear the end of it all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little sorry about all the smut - but they have some catching up to do :D We'll get back to the actual 'plot' soon enough. In fact, there's a bit of angst around the corner soon. 
> 
> **Next up:** stargazing and s'mores, anyone?


	30. the lake

He's never been so damn happy in his entire life. The week passes by in a blur, and for the first time ever, he wants to freeze time instead of fast forwarding until something good finally happens to him.

 

It's a miracle to him how he ever made it in life without Carol by his side. It's a scary thought and he knows he shouldn't get ahead of himself, but its true and he feels it in ever fiber of his being when he's apart from her.

 

Some days, he feels so damn light and happy that he feels like bursting out into song like some pretentious dick on tv. That ain't him - he never even sings along to the songs on the radio.

 

But damn it if those cheerful tunes don't sound even catchier these days.

 

Even right now on the back of his bike, all his thoughts are about her. The wind around them, the mountains and trees towering around them - none of that leaves an impression.

 

All that matters is the way Carol has her arms curled around his waist, holding on to him as the bike roars beneath them. The way her thighs bracket his hips, a constant warm pressure that's more reassuring and grounding than anything has ever felt.

 

He slips his own hand from the handle, finds one of hers. Their fingers entwine against his belly, her own so soft and smooth. He wishes he could turn to see her smile, but he can feel it in the tenderness of her touch.

 

* * *

 

_This is so beautiful._ Her voice is slightly muffled and he watches with amusement as she pulls the helmet off her head. His own is dangling from the handle bar already, and he runs a hand through his messed up hair.

 

Carol's own silver curls are sticking in all directions and he bites back the urge to twirl them around his fingers - especially now that he knows just how silky soft they are.

 

_'s quiet up here,_ he says, taking a look around the clearing he drove them to. A lake lies cradled against the edge of the forest, the Georgia mountains towering in the background. Sunlight reflects of the lake's surface, and the rich green grass and wildflowers of the clearing make it look like something put of a damn fairy tale. _Found it once when I was out huntin'._

 

That had been years ago, but he was always drawn back to this spot when he needed peace and quiet. Far enough away from any roads or hiking grounds, this place offered the solitude he craved.

 

Carol's eyes are shining with excitement as she puts the helmet down. _Come on, let's unpack,_ she suggests, already shrugging off her backpack and unbuckling the straps of the bag attached to the bike.

 

_Someone's eager,_ he snorts, helping her pull the heavy bag off.

 

She pushes herself into his space with a wicked smile, her hand ghosting over his forearm. _Aren't you?_

 

He wants to laugh at that because is he ever. But all that comes out is a breathless, throaty sound that she steals from him with a quick, delicate kiss.

 

* * *

 

They spend the next hour setting up the tent and sleeping bags, gathering firewood and draping blankets on the ground as the sun shines down on them.

 

With an exhausted sigh, Daryl plops down on one of the blankets eventually, kicking off his shoes and socks and letting the aching soles of his feet press into the tickling grass.

 

Carol, however, doesn't seem as exhausted as he feels. She's standing a few feet away from him, her body blocking the sun. All he can really make out is her perfect silhouette as she pulls her shirt over her head and steps out of her shorts.

 

He watches, mesmerized, as more and more of her pale skin is exposed. Her bright red bathing suit is peeking out of one of the bags, but she doesn't reach for it.

 

_Carol?_ he asks, trying hard not to stare too much at the round of her ass or the peek of her breast she gives when she turns a little and drops her bra onto the ground.

 

_Hmm?_ She peeks over her shoulder and smiles wickedly, heading towards the calm lake. Naked from head to toe and damn it, how is he supposed to not stare?

 

_Watch'ya doin'?_ he asks, his throat dry and voice hoarse. There's no shame to how she walks, and he's astonished by it. Not that she has anything to be ashamed of.

 

She's a lot more confident about the whole sex thing than he is - which is mesmerizing as it is because it really should be the other way around. But after the first few times they slept together, she quickly stopped being shy and almost shameful around him. Dragged him under the shower and walked around with the bare planes of her body for him to admire.

 

She still needs room to breathe, though. No matter how caught up in the moment they get, he's careful never to push her too far. Never crawls over her to press her against the bed no matter how much he may want to. Most of the time, he lets her guide them.

 

Yesterday, when she'd made them both a cup of coffee, he stepped up behind her, trailed kisses down the back of her neck and relished in the soft whimpers she made. But when he moved to hitch the oversized shirt she wore to bed up over her hips, she tensed against him.

 

He was afraid he broke the spell, but she pulled through. Turned around and lifted herself onto the counter, took him inside of her with an encouraging kiss.

 

She's so much stronger than he could ever hope to be.

 

The amount of trust she shows in him by being so open nearly makes him crumble.

 

_I'm going swimming,_ she explains, taking a few steps into the lake and hissing a little at the no doubt cold water. He's still struggling not to stare, although he's not quite sure how inappropriate that would actually be by now.

 

_Like that?_ He raises his brows and she just shrugs, the water up to her knees.

 

_Yes._ She turns around when the water has reached her abdomen, and his eyes are instantly drawn to her breasts. _Are you coming?_ She chuckles a little and he blushes like a damn fool, quickly moving to stand and fumbling with his belt.

 

By the time he makes it to the lake he's wearing nothing but his boxers. The sun feels good on his bare skin, prickling and warm. But he lingers there, hesitating to rid himself off this last bit of clothing.

 

She's seen him - all of him. Has seen his scars, shyly and tenderly traced her fingers over them under the hot spray of the shower. Has seen every other inch of him and really it shouldn't be such a big deal right now.

 

But he lacks the confidence she has. And to strip in front of her without her body against his, without any intentions, is different and awkward.

 

Luckily, she seems to sense his doubts and lowers herself into the water. Turning away from him, she swims a few leaps, graceful and elegant and distracting him.

 

Cursing himself and all his issues, he steps out of his boxers - not the least surprised that his body is more than reacting to Carol's little show.

 

The water is damn near freezing when he steps in, and he mutters a curse under his breath. He doesn't stop until he loses the ground beneath his feet and starts swimming. Carol is facing him again, floating in the water with a smile on her face.

 

He swims over towards her, his arms and legs protesting against the cold.

 

When he reaches her, she smirks, and before he knows it she splashes water in his face, giggling a little.

 

_Hey, stop! 's cold,_ he snorts, shaking his head like a dog. Carol has come closer, her leg brushing his groin in the process. He bites back a grunt, teeth grinding as a spark of electricity shoots up his spine.

 

_Not_ too _cold,_ she breathes, her eyes wide and open and he tilts his head, cursing his body for acting like he's a damn teenager with raging hormones and nothing else on the brain.

 

_Stop,_ he mutters, holding himself up in the water and feeling like an idiot but then Carol's hand finds his.

 

_Come here,_ she whispers, running her hand up his arm until she locks it around his shoulder and pulls herself against him. He remains as still as he can without going under, watching her parted lips as she presses herself flush against him.

 

The moment she wraps her legs around his waist, he's lost. _Jesus,_ he groans, crashing his lips against hers. She yelps in response but kisses him back just as eagerly, rocking herself back and forth against the length of him that's trapped between them.

 

Every throaty moan drives him to the edge. It would be so easy to grab her and tilt her hips just right, sink into her. But he won't do that, not until she's ready.

 

Pulling away from the kiss, he buries his face against her neck, her skin warm despite he cold water that pearls on it.

 

Carefully, he moves them back into shallow waters until he can feel the ground beneath his toes. No longer needing his arms to keep them afloat, he slides his hand over her ribs until he cups the weight of a breast in his palm, dragging his thumb over a stiff nipple.

 

She gasps his name, presses her forehead against his. _Thank you,_ she whispers, and Daryl stops moving, stops breathing. Can focus on nothing but the sincerity in her eyes when she tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear. _For taking me here._

 

There's nothing he wants more than to spend every waking minute of every day with her and in that moment, he wishes he had the adequate words to tell her.

 

Instead, he mutters a low, hoarse _fuck_ when she reaches between them and guides him inside of her, just an inch or two and holding him there. He barely holds back the urge to bury himself in her completely.

 

Carol leans in until her soft lips graze his earlobe. _I want you,_ she whispers, bold and utterly wrecking and he clutches her hips then, damn near loses his footing as he pushes himself into her.

 

She murmurs his name, her eyes fluttering shut and then she falls backwards slowly until her back rests against the water, her breasts glistening in the sunlight. She's a mirage and he almost cries at the sight of her, beautiful, stunning.

 

He can't believe she actually wants him.

 

They move slowly, a gentle rhythm, their hips rocking against each other. He never pulls out more than an inch or two, allows his hands to slide all over her body. Bends himself forward to sink his teeth just slightly into the swell of her breast until she pants his name.

 

It feels like they're flying and he feels like a complete idiot for thinking that. Merle would say he's going soft, but he pushes away all thoughts of his brother - all thoughts that aren’t about Carol and the way her legs tighten around him and the way her fingers curl hard into his arm before she falls apart, his hand stroking her where he can feel himself sliding into her.

 

He watches her, enthralled, as she shatters. A silent cry tearing from her throat, eyes shut, the sun shining down on her body, back arched.

 

He's never seen anything more beautiful and he follows her over the edge then, his body trembling and shivering. He can barely hold himself upright.

 

* * *

 

_Oh God, these are so good,_ Carol hums, licking some leftover chocolate from her bottom lip. Daryl nearly groans at the sound she makes, too familiar, evoking too many memories already.

 

She never put her clothes back on after they finally got out of the lake, swimming and splashing and kissing until neither could really hold themselves afloat anymore.

 

Instead, she wrapped a soft towel around herself, and now the moonlight and the flames are illuminating her bare legs, shadows dancing in the dips of her collarbones.

 

Her eyes are closed as she tosses the last bite of her her s'more into her mouth, licking her fingers clean. He can't quite resist her then, humming in affirmation and leaning in to press his lips to her throat.

 

She laughs softly for a moment, craning her neck to give him more room. He suckles at the soft skin, smells the sun and sweat and sugar on her, nuzzling into her.

 

What he forgets, however, is the s'more he's still holding in his own hand, and they're both reminded of it when Carol suddenly squeak as a drop of hot chocolate lands on her knee.

 

_Stop!_ she giggles, and he already has an apology ready on his lips when she leans into him again, her breath warm on his cheek and her voice low. _You're getting it all over me._

 

Her eyes look darker than before and Daryl's throat turns dry. Almost subconsciously, he tosses the s'more away, his hand coming down to rest on her calf.

 

_Lemme fix that,_ he breathes and then he's leaning down to press a kiss to her kneecap, his hand inching around her calf. Her breath hitches a little and his blood starts boiling when she parts her legs slightly, revealing a glimpse at the smooth skin of her inner thighs.

 

Knowing she's bare underneath is enough to make his blood rush south. Softly, he mouths kisses around her knee until he catches the chocolate, licking it off her skin. The flavor bursts in his mouth but he hardly tastes it, his lips already pressing kisses down her calf.

 

He shifts himself on the blanket they spread out until he kneels before her, curling his hands under her knees.

 

Gently, he pushes, urging her to part her legs further, suddenly overcome by the need to taste her. He wanted to before but was never brave enough to suggest it. But now, he feels lightheaded enough to press a kiss just above her knee against the smooth skin of her thigh.

 

_Daryl-_ Carol pants, her hips lifting off the blanket for a moment, causing the towel to slide up a little. He's not sure she quite understands what he wants right now, and so he slides his hand from her knee up her thigh, pressing his cheek against her leg. Waiting. _Oh,_ she gasps then, just as his fingers inch towards her core, the heat of her radiating already.

 

But she tenses, looking down at him with creased brows. _You don't have to...,_ she murmurs, her hand coming up to sift through his hair. _It's all right, I don't-_

 

_Ya don't wanna?_ he asks, damn near purring when she rakes her fingers against his scalp. His hand stills, just a light pressure against her thigh. He'll stop if she doesn't want this. But he needs to know of she really doesn't, or if it's something else holding her back.

 

She sighs, dropping her and. _I never..._ She trails off into silence, meeting his gaze with a sense of shyness he hasn't seen in a while.

 

His own cheeks flame up. _Me, neither,_ he admits, worried that his lack of skill and experience will only make her want to tell him no more. But he wants to make her feel good any way he can. _Lemme try?_ he breathes, nuzzling his nose against her thigh, inhaling deeply. _Ain't gonna hurt ya._ Carol shudders when his fingers ghost over her sensitive skin, mapping out familiar territory. _Just say stop if ya don't like it._

 

She looks at him for a long moment, but then his heart skips a beat when she nods. _Okay,_ she whispers, and then she's leaning back on her elbows.

 

She's still tense and so he takes his time, smoothing his hands up and down her thighs, feathering kisses from her knees down to her ankles and back up, inching up her thigh a little further each time, holding her hips.

 

Eventually, he tugs at the towel, letting it fall open and reveal all of her to him. Her chest heaves with every breath and he can't help but reach up to cup her breasts, kneading and stroking them for a while until she's whimpering and actually tilting her hips up towards him.

 

He's never been this nervous in his entire life. When he gently parts her legs and moves between them, his heart pounds in his chest. He watches as her fingers curl into the blanket, nuzzles his face against the inside of her thigh.

 

Being so close to her, all of her exposed to his gaze, makes him blush like a damn teenager who's never seen a naked woman before and he has to swallow the lump in his throat and grind his erection against the blanket for a moment to release some tension.

 

He doesn't know where to start or what the fuck to do but he guesses the longer he lingers the more awkward it's going to get. Gathering all his courage, he presses a kiss against her abdomen, another one, and another, inching further down until his lips meet the heat of her.

 

_Oh,_ she yelps, her hips jolting up and he has to press a hand to her hipbone to keep her still. Taking this as a good sign he starts doing what he did with his fingers when he first touched her. He maps her out, soft and chaste kisses until he has her memorized. Paying attention to the way her breath hitches and those little whimpers escape her throat.

 

_Daryl!_ she moans, her back arching when he teases her with his tongue, tasting her, biting back his own groan because _shit_ she's wet.

 

_Fuck!_

 

He nearly comes into his boxers when she hisses that word, the same second he curls his lips around her nub, sucking it into his mouth. He feels like he should be doing more, doesn't know where to touch her first because he wants to touch all of her at once if he could.

 

His free hand smooths up her thigh, finds the heat of her and he slides two fingers into her without warning. She arches up so hard that he can barely hold her down, licking and sucking at her and feeling her whole body tense.

 

She's close, he can tell, and knowing he's the reason for that nearly makes him grin against her sensitive flesh.

 

When she does reach her peak, it's harsh and fast and almost unexpected. She cries his name into the silence of the night, a tremor wrecking her body and he keeps going, curls his fingers inside of her and prolonging it until she mewls and clutches at him, pushing him away.

 

He doesn't move away entirely, though, ghosts light kisses up her thigh instead, watching her body convulse as the aftershocks of her release pulse through her system.

 

She's sucking in sharp breaths, her body heaving with each one. His hand on her hip slides up to her ribs, feeling the heat on her skin.

 

In the wake of her release, he's painfully reminded of his own arousal, pressing insistently against his boxers and becoming harder and harder to ignore.

 

Slowly, Carol's eyes flutter open, the flames of the fire reflecting in them. _Come here,_ she murmurs hoarsely, reaching out her hand and taking his. Softly, she tugs him up, and he follows without hesitation, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head when her thighs clamp around his hips.

 

A second later, he panics though, realizing he's pressing her body against the ground with his own. Quickly, he tries to push himself off her, turn them onto their sides but Carol curls her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding him close.

 

_No, stay,_ she pleads, her lips brushing against his jaw. _Stay there._

 

There's a hazy, almost dream-like quality to her voice. It's soft and quiet, her breath damp against his skin and he can't deny how good it feels to have her bare body pressed against his own like this.

 

_Ya sure?_ he asks, needing to know that this is truly what she wants, that she's not doing this for his sake or pushing herself too far. His hand cradles her face, feeling the silky softness of her hair.

 

She nods, her feet beginning to inch down his boxers an inch at the time. _Yes,_ she reassures him, tilting her hips up when the length of him springs free. _Please._

 

He can't deny her then - he never could. Reaching down, he pushes his boxers off, kicking them away and pressing himself against her. Feeling her wet heat against him and rocking back and forth as their lips meet. Slow, languid and deep.

 

When he pushes into her - a slow, smooth glide - he swallows her moan, his own chest rumbling because she feels so fucking good wrapped around him like this. Gently, he rocks into her, still weary that it might be too much.

 

But she doesn't look like she's in pain or trapped in a bad memory. When he parts from the kiss and looks down at her, skin damp with sweat and shimmering in the light of the fire, she's glowing, lax, completely enthralling.

 

They move slowly, her hips raising to meet his when he pushes himself deep. Her legs hitched high on his hips, opening herself wider to him, sucking him deeper inside and he never wants to be anywhere else.

 

He leans down to mouth kisses along her jaw, over the spot behind her ear and down to her thrumming pulse point. Her breasts push against his chest, the rosy peaks stiff and dragging over his skin.

 

Still, he feels like he needs to be closer, wants to crawl under her skin and the way she whimpers his name doesn't help at all.

 

He reaches down to hitch her leg even higher, her knee grazing his ribs, and she yelps in response, her fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders.

 

But it's not the pain he feels in that moment. He just feels her tightening around him, her hips moving more eagerly with his own deep thrusts. He knows he can't hold back any longer, can feel the tight coil ready to snap.

 

He nearly loses his balance when he reaches down between them, his fingers lost against her wet flesh for a moment but she moans all the same, throwing her head back and exposing her throat to him.

 

Pressing his forehead against her shoulder, he circles his fingers over her, thrusting a little harder, ignoring the strain in his muscles and focusing on nothing else but Carol.

 

He doesn't last long enough. Tenses and pushes into her hard as his release hits him like a tidal wave. She gasps when he thrusts harder than before, going as deep as he can and she holds him there, locking her legs tight as he pulses, moving weakly.

 

She doesn't hold still though, grinds her hips against his almost frantically, clutching at him and squeezing around him in a way that makes him see stars and then she crashes over the edge too, clamping down around his still throbbing length so tightly that he groans deep, muffling it against the crook of her neck.

 

Her body arches into his, every inch of their bare skin touching, their breaths ragged and loud as their bodies eventually relax.

 

He never wants to move. Wants to stay here like this, buried inside her with her legs and arms wrapped around him and her lips pressing against his temple forever.

 

His hand moves away from between them and she hisses a little. Gently, he curls it around her hip, keeps her steady.

 

They stay like this for a while, their heart rates slowing down, nothing filling the air but the crackle of the fire and the sound of crickets.

 

_The sky is so clear,_ Carol whispers after a while, her voice raspy and deep and full of awe.

 

Daryl turns his head then, catching a glimpse at the smile on her face before moving away from her long enough to roll onto his side. _Yeah,_ he breathes, looking up at the dark blue canvas speckled with millions of stars.

 

Carol shifts against him until she's facing him, her leg hitched over his and her hand gliding up and down his side. Rolling onto his back, he takes her with him, tucking her against his side. She sighs contently, pressing a kiss to his chest.

 

_Daryl?_ He can barely hear her, sleep threatening to claim him right here when they're naked in the middle of nowhere. He looks down at her, tucks a curl of her hair behind her ear. She looks a little nervous, chewing on her next words. _I... I'm happy._

 

His heart skips a beat. Not just because her admission makes him feel light, but because of the words he thinks she considered before. Words that are big and terrifying and yet he knows them to be true, deep in his heart.

 

He doesn't know shit about love. Has nothing to compare to. But he's pretty sure he's in love with her. Telling her though - he's not quite brave enough for that yet. And he's afraid of pushing her away.

 

_'m happy, too,_ he replies instead, smiling softly and feeling it warm his heart the same moment a light breeze tickles his sweat-slicked body. _Ya cold?_

 

_No,_ Carol murmurs, burrowing into his chest. He can feel the curl of her smile when she presses her lips against his skin. _I'm fine._

 

With her warm body curled around his, Daryl looks up at the stars, tracing circles up and down her spine. The stars shine above, the air clear, and he waits for the dream to end, for reality to pull him back.

 

But it never comes. Carol, the stars, the taste of her kiss. It all lingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehem...
> 
> So, I think that's all the smut this story can take. I feel like they more than made up for the UST :) We can move on to other things now. Beware some angst.
> 
> **Next up:** we catch up with some of the other residents


	31. happiness

_Have you sold anything yet?_ Eric asks, taking a sip of his wine.

 

The question is directed at both of them, but considering Daryl currently has a mouth full of pasta, Carol takes it upon herself to answer. _Lots of things, actually,_ she replies proudly, putting down her fork. The last few weeks, they've been busy selling what they salvaged from the attic to antique stores and people online, and so far they haven't had much trouble to get rid of most things. There's still more piled up in storage, but they're making good progress.

 

Daryl snorts. _Lotta weird people out there,_ he mutters, and Carol rolls her eyes. His dislike for her armchair might have eased for reasons that she pushes to the back of her mind now, but overall he's still as unimpressed by all the odds and ends they found as he was when they started.

 

Aaron looks just as unimpressed with Daryl, but he grins. _What are you going to do with the money?_ he asks, leaning back in his chair. The sun is beginning to set outside, and the candles flickering on the table are slowly becoming their main source of light.

 

_Well, it's not really ours,_ Carol explains. When all those things in the attic were left behind, they – according to a clause in the contract - officially became Dale's property. So, all the money they have made selling them is his, although he's allowed them the freedom to handle it all. _But we have an idea and Dale just has to agree._ She feels excited just mentioning it, knows she probably should keep it to herself. After all, it's just a fleeting idea right now, something they came up with one lazy morning, wrapped in each other's arm in bed, watching the birds flying outside.

 

_Sounds mysterious,_ Eric muses, his curiosity clearly sparked.

 

She feels like a tease for bringing it up and hopes dearly that she has not jinxed their plans. From her periphery, she can see Daryl smirking. _You'll be the first to know,_ she reassures Aaron and Eric. That might be sooner rather than later – Daryl had promised to check in with Dale this weekend.

 

They all eat in silence for a while after that, and Carol cherishes the comfort of this evening. Good friends, company she enjoys, delicious food and a small glass of wine in front of her. Knowing that she won't be going back to her apartment alone later. She couldn't be any happier.

 

_Carol, would you like some more mushrooms?_ Aaron asks after a few minutes, pointing his fork at the bowl of marinated, glistening mushrooms.

 

Her mouth waters just at the sight of them alone. _Yes, please._

 

Aaron scoops a very generous amount onto her place, and she digs in instantly. Daryl snorts at her eagerness, and she nudges her knee against his thigh under the table – not quite able to bite back her smile.

 

_This is nice,_ Eric says after a while, giving them both a wide smile.

 

_It is,_ she agrees, and Daryl nods – taking a large sip of wine.

 

Aaron smiles just as softly, setting down his own glass. _We're so happy for you two._ He sounds so genuine, and Carol's heart leaps a little. Daryl blushes by her side, staring down at the table and fidgeting with the napkin.

 

Slowly, she rests her hand on top of his, brushing her thumb over his knuckles until he relaxes a little. She nods towards Aaron and Eric, a silent thank you.

 

_Now, before we get all mushy,_ Eric chuckles, effectively easing the mood a little. _Have you seen Gregory's new haircut?_

 

* * *

 

_Really didn't need that second piece o' cake,_ Daryl groans as they make their way down the stairs to her floor. The steps creak a little and the warmth of Daryl’s hand presses consistently against the small of her back – all familiar things that wrap her in a cocoon of happiness.

 

_I told you so,_ she grins, choosing to omit the fact that she also had way too much of that delicious coconut cake that Eric brought out after dinner. Daryl doesn't need to know that she wasn't a bit more reasonable than him – she won't have him let that victory.

 

_Yeah, rub it in,_ Daryl snorts, gently nudging her ribs with his fist before pulling her a little closer into his side.

 

Carol fumbles with her keys, a grin spreading across her face when his words cause that little flame inside of her to turn into an blast. _I'll rub as much as I want,_ she teases, enjoying the way he swallows and looks away.

 

_Stop._

 

She laughs softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before resting her cheek there. _Do you have to leave early tomorrow?_ she asks, absent-mindedly running her hand up and down his back until they reach her front door. He has to pick up some supplies tomorrow to repair the steps out front, and he mentioned wanting to head there early.

 

As she untangles herself from him to unlock the door he steps up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. _Nah, can stay for breakfast,_ he murmurs against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

 

She misses the keyhole twice when his thumbs begin to draw light circles above her hipbones, and she surrenders to his touch, lets her head fall back against his chest. _Good._

 

His warm lips press a kiss to her pulse point when the sound of a door opening suddenly tears through the quiet hallway. They jump apart immediately, startled and a little flushed.

 

_Well, look who it is,_ Abraham hollers, shutting his door behind him and marching over to them with wide steps. He's tall and intimidating and crass, but Carol doesn't mind having him and Rosita as next-door neighbors. Most of the time.

 

_Hello,_ she greets, smoothing her hands down her shirt. Daryl's fingers fidget against his thighs, and even without looking she knows the bashful look on his face is going to give them away – even if Abraham hasn't figured it out on his own already.

 

But Abraham doesn't comment on what he just interrupted. Instead, he takes a step towards Daryl and puts a hand on his shoulder. Daryl tenses visibly and Carol worries for a moment that it's too much. _Congrats, man,_ Abraham says with a grin that doesn't waver even as Daryl shrugs off his hand. _Heard there was some serious bangin' goin' on over there last night._ Daryl's eyes grow wide as saucers and Carol is pretty sure her own look just as comical and ridiculous. _Didn't know ya had it in ya._

 

She wants to disappear into the floor. No matter how much she likes to tease Daryl and appear confident, the last thing she wants is for the entire building to be witness to what happens behind closed doors. Usually, they both try to stay as quiet as possible, quiet enough not to let anyone else know what's going on.

 

Last night, though... Carol feels a rush of heat racing through her veins as she thinks about last night. Neither of them had been able to stay as quiet as they wanted to be. It had been different and new and Carol never knew it could be like this and in those precious moments, both of them forgot everything around them.

 

They're paying the prize for it now.

 

_Now, don't you look as innocent as lambs,_ Abraham says, arms crossed in front of his broad chest and grinning just as much as before. He leans in close enough to mutter something to Daryl, but he doesn't seem to really make much of an effort for Carol not to hear him because she can understand every word he's saying. _She's got quite the mouth on her, you're a lucky man._

 

She's embarrassed for around one second before Daryl snaps, taking a step back as his hands ball into fists. _Shut up,_ he grunts, and Carol quickly rests her hand against his arm to calm him down. _Ain't like ya-_

 

Abraham raises his hands, his grin never fading. _Hey, no need for that,_ he says as a piece offering. _You two go have fun._ He walks past them before either of them can say something else, and they stand there, petrified, until his thundering steps on the stairs have faded.

 

_Oh my God,_ Carol whines, burrowing her head against Daryl’s chest because the embarrassment and shame she felt earlier hits her like a tidal wave now. Yet, at the same time, she can't help but laugh, clutching at Daryl's shirt. _I'm moving out,_ she announces, looking up at Daryl – glad to see his own lips curled into a more relaxed grin.

 

He takes the keys from her hands, reaching past her to unlock her door. _Could move into the basement with me,_ he suggests with a snort – and even though she knows it's meant as a joke she can't help the thrill of excitement at the prospect of living with him. Officially. He already spends almost every free moment and every night at her place. _Ain't nobody gonna hear ya down there,_ he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.

 

Carol ignores the heat pooling low in her stomach and rolls her eyes instead. _Said the serial killer,_ she teases, watching him grin before pulling him into her apartment.

 

* * *

 

_Annette already agreed,_ Lori announces, all but bouncing off the edge of the couch, clapping her hands. _I'm so excited, I've never been to Europe before and- Carl!_ she shouts towards the open back door where the sound of her son and his friend squealing and splashing in the small pool are currently drowning out her own words. _Could you be a little more quiet?_ Instantly, the two boys grow silent, and when Lori turns back to Carol, she shakes her head and sighs. _Sorry._

 

Carol smiles, not bothered by the kids enjoying the lovely day. The gardens that come with the two ground floor apartments are tiny, but Lori and Rick have made theirs into a small oasis, and Carl has every right to make the most of that. _It's all right,_ she reassures her friend, reaching for a few grapes from the bowl on the coffee table. _I'm so excited for you. You have to take pictures everywhere._

 

Lori and Rick have been saving up for this trip to Italy and France ever since they got married – and now they finally managed to make it a reality. Next spring, they're off to Europe, and Carol couldn't be happier for them. Lori looks elated and excited, more than she has looked in a long time.

 

_I will,_ she promises, but then her expression sours a little. _I'm sorry you'll have to work an extra shift now and then._

 

Carol dismissively waves her hand, not in the least bothered to cover for her friend. _I don't mind, really, I don't,_ she insists, offering Lori a bright smile to reassure her that she did not just say that to make her feel less guilty.

 

_Thank you,_ Lori sighs, leaning back against the couch and popping a grape into her mouth. For a moment, she eyes Carol intently, so much so that Carol averts her gaze. _You look so happy,_ Lori points out then, the corners of her mouth curled into a knowing smirk. Carol hides a shy, almost embarrassed smile, but that probably only adds to what Lori sees in her. _Really._

 

_I_ am _happy,_ Carol breathes, trying to mask the lump in her throat and the tears that sting in her eyes because the words are genuine and true and she never thought she'd say them. Looking down at her fingers, entwined on her lap, she takes a deep breath. _I never thought- I never really thought I'd have this, you know?_ Looking up at Lori, she's met with her friend's kind smile and a hint of sadness in her brown eyes. _Not even with Ed, at the beginning – it was never like this._

 

She'd been infatuated with Ed, flattered by the attention, desperate not to be all on her own – telling herself she was in love, that she was happy. Maybe she _was_ for a little while, maybe it wasn't always an illusion. But it shattered like a house of cards all too quickly and left nothing behind but resentment for the desires that drove her into her own cage.

 

_You deserve this, more than anyone I know._ Lori's own voice falters a little, and they both smile at that. In this moment, the happiness they both feel is almost overwhelming.

 

The sound of the children playing outside fills the room, painfully reminding Carol of something that's been heavy on her heart for a while now.

 

_I wish I'd met him sooner,_ she confesses quietly, tucking a leg beneath her on the soft couch. _That we could have had more time together._

 

It's a thought she hasn't been able to shake. A desire that runs so deep and is so painfully because the past can't be changed.

 

If only they'd met sooner. They could have navigated their lives together instead of already being settled and shaping this thing they ave around that. They could have gotten married back when the thought did not send a chill down Carol's spine – the mere idea of shackling herself to another person like that again is enough for her to crave more space. All those years she wasted on Ed, she could have spent with Daryl by her side.

 

They could have had a family together. Children.

 

But their time for all of that has come and gone.

 

_Carol, stop,_ Lori says instantly, sounding almost harsh. _You sound like one of you is terminally ill. You just turned forty, it's not the end of the world._ Her grin is meant to reassure Carol and it does that a little bit – Carol is reasonable enough to understand that. _You two still have a lot of time together ahead of you._ Lori pauses, eyes her with caution and curiosity. _If you want that._

 

The question lingers between them for a stretched-out, heavy moment. _I do,_ she admits eventually, her voice just a small, frail thing. _I- I really do._ It's a truth she was aware of. She never considered this to be something temporary. A fling, something to take her mind off things. No. It's always been more than that and she knows she's in it for the long run. Knows, deep down, that Daryl feels the same.

 

Lori seems relieved to hear that. She reaches for her glass of juice, but lingers with her fingertips just barely brushing the glass. _Does he know about Ed?_ she asks, her words and gaze a little hesitant. They do not talk about this chapter of Carol's life very often and she's grateful for that. Wants to leave it all behind and not drag it out. It happened, it's over. That's all that really matters.

 

She nods slowly, brushing her thumb over her bare ankle. _Not everything,_ she explains. Her and Daryl never had a proper conversation – most of what he does know he figured out on his own or she hinted at it. She wasn't ready for more and she might never be. _But-_

 

_Neither do I,_ Lori finishes for her, tilting her head with a sorrowful but understanding expression. She has never pressed for more information. Only knows the bare essentials – that was all she ever needed to know.

 

_Yeah._ Carol wonders if she really wants to keep this conversation going, aware of the dangerous line of truth she's treading on. _I don't think I-_

 

A loud screech interrupts her and she jolts a little on the couch, nearly knocking over her own glass with her foot.

 

_Carl!_ Lori shouts, immediately followed by a frustrated groan. _What did I say?_

 

Everything is silent outside for a moment before a small, defeated voice calls back. _Sorry, Mom!_

 

Carol doesn't pick up the conversation when the kids grow quiet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I have some time off work, I hope to wrap this story up soon. There are only five chapters left, so we're slowly but surely coming to an end here.


	32. two steps back

Daryl has always been used to short, effective showers. A few minutes at best, just enough to clean himself. He never understood people who lingered there under the spray for twenty, thirty minutes.

 

Right now, though, the last thing on his mind is getting out of this shower. Not when he has his arms wrapped around Carol's slick, warm, naked body. Not when she's ghosting her fingers up and down his back – not avoiding his scars but not lingering on them, either. Not when her head is cradled against his chest, her lashes fluttering against his skin and her lips curled into a smile.

 

No. He'll stay right here for as long as possible.

 

_I wish I had a bathtub,_ Carol sighs, pressing a light kiss to his chest.

 

He just hums in response, eyes closed, nuzzling his face down against the side of her throat. Even now, he still can't believe how soft and delicate she is – breakable, almost, if not for the fire and strength he knows rests underneath her ivory skin.

 

There's no room in here for a bathtub, but he can't deny that the idea of it is tempting.

 

_Maybe in the winter we can book a hotel room,_ Carol suggests, craning her head to give him more room and sighing softly when he sucks as the skin where her shoulder curves into her neck. Her hands on his back linger on his shoulders, holding them there as he whispers kisses along her skin, across her collarbone and up towards her ear. _One with a huge bathtub. Or a jacuzzi._

 

He huffs against her jaw, licking a few drops of water from her skin. She shudders in his arms, pushes a bit closer until her breasts are flush with his chest and he feels the softness of her belly and thighs against him.

 

_We can stay in the bathtub until we're all wrinkly,_ she murmurs, one of her hands inching down to his hip, her thumb just barely grazing the jut of his hipbone. _Order room service._

 

_Sounds damn fine to me,_ he murmurs, seeking out her lips. It sounds perfect, really. And even though he knows it's ridiculous he can't help but feel his heart swell at the idea that Carol is making plans for them for the winter already. For a future.

 

She smiles into the kiss until he deepens it, his hand finding her breast and squeezing the soft flesh. For a moment, she arches into his touch but then she pulls away with a gasp.

 

_We're not doing this in here again,_ she warns, but her voice is low and throaty and makes his blood rush south. He knows she can feel it, doesn't miss her light smirk when her hand drifts further south. _Not after last time._

 

Damn, she's right. Last time they tried this in here, he nearly sent both of them tumbling to the ground – and the last thing he wants is to throw out his back or break his arm because of a sudden adventurous streak.

 

But he's still unwilling to get out of here.

 

_Other things we can do,_ he rasps, still a little unsure of this confidence that bubbles up in her presence. But all doubts and insecurities are washed away when her cheeks flush and lips part.

 

When he drops down to his knees and kisses her where she's warm and wet and she gasps so loud he can hear her over the rush of the water, he feels like a million bucks.

 

He never knew how could that could feel.

 

* * *

 

_Why don't ya get one of 'em tablets to read?_ he asks, pulling more books down from one of her shelves. She has so many of them, they've been at this for a while. It makes sense, he supposes. After all, she works in a book shop. _Would save y'a lot 'o space._

 

Carol smiles at him, setting down a stack of what looks like old and worn encyclopedias. _I like putting them on the shelf after I read them,_ she explains, lifting onto her tip toes to grab more. _And I like the smell._

 

He snorts, not exactly very fond of the smell himself. It always smelled kind of dusty and old to him. _Library we had where I grew up stank like somethin' died in there,_ he tells her, nose scrunching at the mere memory. He'd gone there often as a kid when his father was especially drunk – when he needed a dry place to stay until his anger wore off.

 

It had been a decent enough place to stay. The chairs had seen better days and he struggled to make sense of a lot of the books there – but nobody screamed at him or lashed out, there was free water to drink and he could stay for hours without anyone growing suspicious.

 

_Charming,_ Carol chuckles, and he smirks, still not used to the rush he feels very time he makes her laugh or smile.

 

He goes back to work then, continuing to pull more and more books from the shelf. Some are old and worn, other much newer, barely looking like someone touched them. A few have curious titles, others he has heard of before. But he doesn't pay too much attention to any of them, just sets them down in neat stacks on the floor.

 

His eyes land on the large driftwood boards they bought earlier, dark wood that will look fantastic against the high, white wall.

 

_So, we gonna put these up across the entire wall?_ he asks, nodding towards the boards. Carol had mentioned the other day how badly she wanted to get rid of her old, used and frankly not-so-pretty shelves and replace them with new ones. Floating driftwood shelves, that's what she talked about, her voice all dream-like as she was tucked into his side on the couch.

 

She wasn't asking him to do it, but he offered anyway. They're long past the point of needing excuses to spend time together, but he still jumps at every single one.

 

_Yes,_ she confirms, turning a book over in her hand and smiling fondly. _I have some more books in storage that I want to rescue from the boxes._

 

His eyes widen a little because he feels like she already has more than anyone should store at home. _Jesus,_ he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. She rolls her eyes at him, putting the book away. _All right,_ he huffs, ready to get the last few books down so he can take apart the old shelves.

 

Reaching up to the top, he grabs a few books from there, but he almost instantly loses his grip. Stumbling forward, he sends the books tumbling down. _Shit!_ he grunts when one hits his head with a sharp corner, his skull throbbing before the book even hits the ground with a dull thud.

 

Carol gasps, instantly by his side. _Are you okay?_ she asks, sounding frantic, her hand ghosting over his temple to where he's pressing his palm against his sore skin. It's not too bad, it just surprised him.

 

He nods to reassure her, taking a step back and rubbing his head. _Yeah, just hit my head and-_ He kneels down as he talks to pick up the book that hit him.

 

At first, he pays no real attention to it, but then his eyes are drawn to the title and he grows quiet. A book about babies. He holds it in his hands, pulling at something that's sticking out the side. He doesn't know much about any of this stuff but he recognizes an ultrasound picture when he sees one. And he sure as hell can read Carol's name in the top corner. _What's this?_ he asks, baffled and confused. Slowly, he rises back to his feet.

 

Carol looks panicked, her eyes wide and full of fear and suddenly her posture has changed. She tense from head to toe, hands balled into fists.

 

_It's just a book,_ she replies, quickly reaching out and tearing the book from him. She's clutching it, hovering there on the spot, chest heaving with each breath.

 

_Carol,_ he says more softly. He knows he probably should not ask, but he also knows that they can never make this work with too many secrets between them - especially not secrets of this magnitude. _Ya got a kid?_ he asks, his voice breaking a little. She never mentioned this before. The only time the matter of children came up was when she told him she couldn't have them anymore.

 

Now, he wonders what the reason for that may be. If she already has a child, if maybe her asshole of a husband took it away from her, if she maybe lost this child. There are no pictures of a son or daughter anywhere around.

 

She's trembling now, her eyes glistening with tears. _No._ There's a finality to the simple word that makes his heart clench. He wants to reach out and comfort her, apologize for even asking. But he can't move, just stares at her while she crumbles apart right in front of him. _Just forget it,_ she says harshly, tossing the book onto the couch.

 

_Carol-_ he begins, panicking and hurting at the sight of her in so much pain and with her walls up a mile high – but she won't let him.

 

_No!_ she insists, he voice raised, her tone frantic. _This is- I can't..._ A tear spills over and he watches its decent down her cheek, past her trembling lips until it drops from her jaw. _Go,_ she breathes, and the single words sends a chill through him unlike anything he has ever felt before.

 

_What?_ he asks, needing to make sure that he heard her right, needing to hear it again because he won't leave unless she really wants him to.

 

She can't look at him, has her arms wrapped protectively around her midsection as she tries to hold together what's left of her right now. _Go, please._ She doesn't sound angry or upset. Her voice is weak and frail, and every hint of a smile – of happiness – seems to be wiped away. _I'm sorry. I can't..._

 

For a moment, they both stand there in her living room, immobile, silent. Then, with a shuddering exhale, Carol turns around and walks away. Daryl looks after her until she disappears into the hallway, holding his breath until the door to her bedroom falls shut.

 

He doesn't know how long he stands there in the ruins of it all before he grants her her wish and leaves. It's almost like time finally decided to stand still.

 

Nothing has ever hurt as much as closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't catch a wink of sleep that night. Lies awake in his own bed for the first time in weeks – cold and empty – and wonders about where they went wrong. Desperately, he tries to understand how she managed to keep something like this from him.

 

He worries about her. Every second that passes he wonders if she feels better already or if he tore open old wounds. That she's suffering all alone.

 

How could he have been stupid enough to miss this? It all makes sense now. Little moments that he allowed to pass by since he met her without questioning them. The distance that somehow clouded her eyes. The longing he felt in her.

 

Even the way she told him she could no longer have children. It hadn't been matter-of-factly. It hadn't been light. The words had been drenched with sorrow and he fucking noticed. But he'd been too distracted by her to really register it – too damn eager to get his hands on her to bother about the sadness she harbored.

 

With a grunt, he punches his fist into the wall, feels the sharp pain of his skin tearing upon impact.

 

He should have known. He should have paid more attention.

 

But it's not just guilt that keeps him awake.

 

She didn't trust him enough to tell him. She didn't trust him enough to allow him to stay.

 

Maybe... Maybe he's not who he thought he was to her. Maybe he talked himself into believing they were more. That they had an actual chance.

 

He's just a fucking fool and he should have known it. Should have known all along that this world never grants him anything good for long. That there was nobody out there for him.

 

He should have bloody well known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry *offers you cookies and hides*
> 
> The matter of Sophia just had to be brought up again and Daryl needed to know - but Carol wasn't ready to share it yet. So, we're heading into a little bit of angst and contemplation.


	33. the sound of silence

She calls in sick the next day. Can't bear to even drag herself out of bed longer than it takes her to go to the bathroom. She feels sick, empty. Cold despite the warm sunbeams falling in through the window.

 

At night, she can't sleep. Lays awake in the darkness, seeing the disappointment and hurt on Daryl’s face. Sees her sweet little girl. Feels the loss of her as sharply as she did the day it happened.

 

During the day, exhaustion claims her and she falls into a restless sleep, waking up shivering and sobbing dry tears.

 

She ignores her doorbell. Three times. Knows it's Lori because of the texts and missed calls and voice messages. Eventually, she texts her back – afraid her friend is going to call the police on her. Tells her she has the stomach flu, declines her offer of bringing up soup and medicine. Even adds a few smiley faces to reassure Lori.

 

She buys it. For a few hours. But then the messages start again because she saw Daryl, because he looked like someone hit him with a truck, because he's not with her. She wants to help, wants to know what's going on.

 

Carol tells her everything is fine. Types the message with trembling fingers. Makes up lies that he's busy, that she told him to stay away so he won't catch what she has. Lying comes easily to her. It's well practiced.

 

After she hits send, she switches off her phone. Drags herself to the bathroom and throws up, her empty stomach revolting.

 

Under the stream of the shower, the tiles cold where she sits with her arms curled around her knees, she tries to wash away the pain and the guilt and the fear.

 

But it doesn't help, and eventually fresh tears mingle with the steaming hot water. Her flesh turning red and raw. A welcome pain to distract from all the rest.

 

* * *

 

Her clothes are soaked, her hair plastered to her head and face. The smell of rain is pungent in the air – she used to love it, drink it in. But now she barely registers it.

 

She watches the willow sway in the wind, watches raindrops splattering into the moss-covered, long abandoned fountain.

 

This place had been beautiful when Daryl took her here, but she sees none of that beauty now. Everything is weathered and forgotten, nature reclaiming what belongs to her. The bench beneath her is hard, the paint peeling off, her feet wet as water from the high grass and wilted wildflowers soaks into her shoes.

 

Shivering in the breeze, she wraps her arms tightly around herself. Again and again she tries to push away the memories that haunt her now. The way the floor dropped beneath her feet. Ed's bone-chilling voice. The warmth of blood on her hands. The barely-there weight of her little girl in her arms. The silence.

 

It's the silence that engulfs her now.

 

* * *

 

Slowly, she makes her way over to the door. The echo of the doorbell still rings in her ears, her pounding head aching from it. It's most likely Lori, sick with worry about her.

 

She has no idea what to tell her. The truth is out of the question, and trying to lie and make her belief things with Daryl – things with _herself_ – are fine would be beyond ridiculous. It's easy enough to hide behind a text message but in person, Lori would see through the lie before she even uttered it.

 

A part of her is afraid that it might be Daryl on the other side of that door.

 

She has no clue if it's a good thing or a bad thing that he has stayed away all this time. Maybe he's given up on her. Maybe he doesn't care anymore. Or maybe he's afraid. Trying to give her space, waiting for her to allow him back into her life.

 

Guilt still clings to her with sharp claws at the way she sent him away. She knows how frightful of rejection he is and how weak his self-esteem is. If he cares about her half as much as she cares about him, what happened that day must have crushed him.

 

If it is him, she won't send him away like that again. But she's not ready to take the first step back.

 

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door.

 

To her surprise, it's neither Lori nor Daryl standing her on the other side. Instead, it's Denise, offering her a kind smile.

 

_Do you mind if I come in?_ she asks, genuinely looking ready to accept a no and turn back around. But Carol doesn't have the heart, and so she takes a step back, making room for Denise.

 

She sighs, shutting the door again. _Did Daryl send you?_ she asks, her voice hoarse and breaking apart. So frail from days of not having been used that she barely remembers how to use it at all.

 

Denise shakes her head as Carol leads her into the living room. _No,_ she replies, taking in the sight of the room. It's a mess. Books scattered everywhere. Carol hadn't known what to do, could hardly put the new shelves up herself. But to put all the books back onto the old ones would have been like accepting defeat and she has not reached that point yet.

 

Slightly embarrassed by the state of her apartment, she motions for Denise to sit down on the couch. Briefly, she considers the armchair for herself to keep some distance – a part of her hoping that Denise won't be able to spot the redness in her eyes – but it evokes too many memories. Instead, she stands still, arms crossed in front of her chest.

 

Denise eyes her for a moment, her expression serious. _He's miserable,_ she states, sending a sharp pain through Carol's chest. _But when I asked he wouldn't tell me what happened._ It's a relief to hear that. She didn't really think he'd spill her secret to the world, but there was always a chance. He had every right to open up to his friend and seek help – but he had no right to share this detail.

 

It's like Denise can see the turmoil in Carol's mind, and her lips curl into a gentle smile. _You don't have to talk about it,_ she reassures her, throwing her hands up in defeat. _It's none of my business._

 

_Then why are you here?_ Carol asks, trying not to sound like she doesn't appreciate Denise's concern. Her mind is still clouded, however, wondering just how bad Daryl feels about all of this. She knows he'd blame himself when there's no reason. When none of this is his fault.

 

Denise takes a deep breath, folding her hands in her lap. _Daryl is a good guy,_ she begins in a calm voice, a practiced voice that reminds Carol just how well Denise knows what she is talking about here. But her pause takes Carol off guard, and there's a hint of hesitation before Denise continues. _He loves you._ Carol's heart stutters a little in her chest, swelling beyond her current capacity. _Maybe he doesn't have the balls to say it but he does._

 

She doesn't know how to respond to that, or if she even should. The fact that he might truly love her isn't as difficult to accept as it would have been a few months ago. But it's still a lot to take in.

 

_And I think that the two of you... You're good for each other,_ Denise continues, full of kindness and understanding. _I don't know what happened, or what happened to you. But I do know that it can be hard to talk about certain things._

 

Carol looks down at her bare feet, taking deep, calming breaths. She never got professional help. Not for any of it. She always believed it wouldn't help, that she wasn't strong enough to actually talk about everything she endured. Convinced it wouldn't change anything.

 

Denise waits until Carol is ready to listen again, her head tilted a little. _But there's not a single thing you can tell him that'll make him love you any less._ For the first time since she started talking, Denise is wrong. Carol doesn't doubt at all that knowing the truth would change how Daryl feels about her. He might treat her more carefully, walk one eggshells for a while. But he'd _feel_ the same. Whether or not what he feels is love, she'll have to hear that from him.

 

_It's not that,_ she rasps, gathering the courage to look Denise in the eyes. _I trust him, I do._ A cold hand curls around her heart, squeezing the air from her lungs and that alone tells her she's not ready. _But I can't talk about- I can't._

 

Denise looks concerned and Carol can't blame her. Her voice was barely more than a whisper on her last words and she curls her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold herself together and trying to keep in the phantom pain she can't shake.

 

_Have you ever talked about it to anyone?_ Denise asks, sighing when Carol shakes her head. God knows how Denise fills in the blanks, but it doesn't really matter. _I know it's hard. But it might help._ Carol knows she isn't wrong. That it really might be for the best. But right now, just the thought of voicing everything that's creating such a storm inside of her seems unbearable. _When you're ready._

 

Carol nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. _I need time,_ she explains, and Denise looks nothing if not understanding. But she also seems to realize that her time here is up and that she has done what she can. As she gets up from the couch, Carol gathers what little is left of her courage, driven mostly by her own worry. _Denise?_ She pauses, turns around. _Is he really miserable?_

 

For a moment, Carol can see Denise pondering a lie. Or at least to downplay the truth. But in the end, thankfully, she grants her honestly. _Never seen him like this before,_ she admits, and Carol feels a fresh wave of tears burning in her sore eyes. Denise, however, is quick to try and take at least some of the burden off her. _But take your time,_ she insists softly, and with one last smile heads back towards the hallway.

 

Carol leads her out, closing the door. Hands balling into fists as the silence takes over again.

 

* * *

 

_Oh, Carol,_ Lori sighs, wrapping her arms around her. Carol sinks into her friend's embrace, biting back more tears. Instead, she chooses to allow some comfort.

 

She had not told Lori the whole truth. That would mean tearing open the very wound she's currently keeping together with rough stitches. But it had been enough to confess that things between her and Daryl weren't as good as she had tried to make her friend believe. That maybe she wasn’t as done with her past as she'd hoped. That she struggled to open up.

 

Lori had listened carefully, her features tense with concern. Now, she's soothing her hand up and down Carol's back, offering her some peace and quiet. She doesn't ask what exactly happened. In fact, she doesn't linger on the subject at all – knows her well enough to understand that Carol told her everything she's willing and able to share.

 

_You can work through this, I know you can,_ she reassures her, and Carol presses a sad smile into her friend's shoulder before pulling away and wiping a stray tear from her cheek. A part of her wants to keep talking. Not about her little girl. But about how much she resents that her past still has such a grip on her. How she hates that the ghost of Ed is still here, haunting her. Keeping her from finally moving on.

 

She wants to shout and scream and curse because she and Daryl do not deserve this. But she can't.

 

Still, she took a step forward. And that has to count for something.

 

_How about we go out tonight?_ Lori suggests carefully, tucking one of her legs beneath herself. _Just to grab dinner. We haven't done that in a while._ That much is true. In retrospect, Carol feels a little guilty for all but abandoning her friend – but she'd been so wrapped up in Daryl that she hardly noticed.

 

The prospect of leaving the apartment – of leaving the house – makes her want to curl up into a ball, though. Lori seems to notice, softening her voice but not giving up just yet. _I know you don't feel like it. But just to get you out of the house?_ It does sound reasonable, Carol has to admit that. On top of that, she has every intention of going back to work tomorrow and maybe a night out will prepare her for that. Just dinner. Just for an hour or two.

 

She sighs, and Lori's eyes begin to lighten up with hope. _Take a shower, put on a nice dress. Take your mind off things for a while?_

 

Carol knows that it won't fix anything. Lori knows that, too. But her intention is a good one and maybe it really will make a small difference.

 

_All right._


	34. what we deserve

Eleven days. He hasn't seen her in eleven days and that's the longest he's had to go without her company since the day she moved in. He misses her. Misses her so fucking much and in such an all-encompassing way. One he does not know how to handle because he never missed anyone the way he misses Carol.

 

He was so young when his momma burned to ash. Memories of the time following her death are hazy at best and happy memories from _before_ are scarce as it is.

 

With Carol, he only shares happy memories. All his happy memories somehow involve her and he should have known he was diving in way too deep. Got too entangled and now he can barely breathe without her.

 

But it's not just the lack of her company that is so unbearable. It's the unknown. Not knowing how she feels, if she's doing better. Not knowing what the future will bring. If she can ever forgive him.

 

Every minute that passes stretches on like a decade. Every day that leads into night makes him feel like he aged a century. And after the first week has come and gone, he starts to feel more and more empty, like he's re-living the same misery over and over and over.

 

* * *

 

_Come on, it'll be fun,_ Tara urges, fiddling with a pair of bright pink sunglasses in her hand.

 

He just grunts and turns his attention back to the blinds that are hanging half off the window. Apparently, Tara had tried to pull them down last night and tugged a little too hard, ripping one of the strings off. They don't come with the apartment so it's not really his business, but they're his friends and so he came when Tara texted him, asking for help.

 

He's been drowning himself in work anyway. Fixed the front stairs, put brand new panels in the elevator, cleared out some pipes, bought new supplies, installed bars in front of the basement windows. Hell, he even bought a few buckets of paint to give all the hallways a fresh coat. Sick of the sandy, faded color he has had to look at for too long.

 

Every second he works he doesn't have to think about Carol too much. And so he works from sunset to sundown and doesn't catch a break, ignoring his body's signs of exhaustion until he falls into bed and a restless sleep claims him.

 

_Daryl,_ Tara urges again, and he sighs, his fingers curling around the gray blinds with a white-knuckled grasp.

 

_Ain't goin' to the damn party,_ he snaps, regretting it instantly. Tara has nothing to do with any of his problems and she's only trying to help, making efforts to distract him. He wouldn't be surprised if she tore down the blinds on purpose to lure him in here.

 

_'m sorry,_ he mutters quickly, tilting his head downwards and feeling like the world's biggest asshole. _Just- just don't wanna go._

 

Tara sighs in defeat. _You need to get out,_ she tells him, not sounding condescending but rather worried to the bone. _All this silent brooding isn't good for you._

 

_Ain't broodin',_ he insists, taking a step up the ladder and inspecting the damage on the blinds.

 

_Yes, you are,_ Tara replies, and when he turns to look at her she has her arms crossed in front of her chest. _And we're worried about you._

 

He doesn't know how to deal with this – with people caring about him. He never knew it before. It's overwhelming and almost irritating because what's he supposed to do? Pretend like everything's fine and that his whole world didn't just come crumbling down? Pretend like he doesn't know he lived an illusion and was fool enough to believe it could be real?

 

_'m fine,_ he lies instead, fully aware that there's no point. But Tara doesn't call him out on it. Instead, she props her socked feet up on the coffee table and tosses those ridiculous glasses onto the sofa.

 

_Denise talked to Carol, you know?_ she says, and he freezes on the ladder, eyes wide. _Don't tell her that I told you that._

 

He wants to knock his fist into the damn wall because _fuck_ , the last thing he wanted was for Denise to go to Carol and bother her with his damn problems. He only talked to her cause she – and the rest of the damn world – didn't miss that he was a bitter wreck. Only told her that something came up that Carol wasn't ready to deal with, that she sent him away, that he doesn't know what to do.

 

Ain't his right to tell her more than that.

 

Ain't _her_ damn right to mess with their business either, but he can't feel angry for long. Not when he knows she only tried to help.

 

_Won't tell 'er,_ he promises Tara, biting back the questions that linger at the tip of his tongue. How is Carol? What did she say? Is she okay?

 

Tara seems a little disappointed by his silence, but she doesn't press the issue any further – silently watching him fix their blinds instead.

 

* * *

 

It feels different out here than it used to.

 

He used to come out here seeking the silence of the woods. Nothing but his crossbow and the rustling of leafs and cracking of twigs to keep him company. The silence was what he longed for because it enveloped him. There were no bad memories to dwell on when he traced a deer or a rabbit. No time for unnecessary thoughts when he gathered firewood and set up shelter.

 

Out here, where civilization and society don't exist, he was allowed to be just him. Almost like a shell that wandered through the woods, spared from all the pain that haunted him constantly otherwise. The noises of the city could never silence the demons in his head. Only out here did he have a chance to lay them to rest.

 

But it's different now.

 

In the silence, he finds no comfort. It only offers more room for his thoughts to spin and spin and spin, dragging him further down the rabbit hole the deeper he ventures between the trees.

 

It takes him hours to even find a proper trail, and he know it isn't because it's been so long since he last took a trip out of the city. These are skills that were drilled into him, that are engrained too deeply to become rusty.

 

He's good at this. He's focused, concentrated, skilled.

 

But his head is elsewhere, still reeling.

 

He hears Carol's voice as a whisper in the wind. Sees her face in the stars when he lays on his back at night, a fire crackling next to him. It reminds him of their time by the lake. Of how happy they'd been.

 

Everything reminds him of her. There's no escape from the grief and the guilt he feels pounding in his ribcage.

 

The silence makes it too easy to think about what he could have done differently. He thinks and thinks until his head hurts and he downs four bottles of beer that he brought, his empty stomach revolting. There's a rabbit over the fire, but he has no appetite for it.

 

He wonders what will happen now. How this will continue. Should he wait for her to come to him? Would she even come to him when so much time has passed already without a trace of her? Should he go to her? Offer her his apologies, tell her how fucking much he loves her and that he can't lose her?

 

He'd fall to his knees and beg if that’s what it took but he can't do that. Can't and _won't_ make her feel guilty.

 

If he does nothing, though, what will happen then? What if she doesn't come to him? Will everything they shared just fade away into memory? Every minute he shared with her meant so much to him, and as difficult as it was to believe at time, he is sure Carol feels at least a little like that. Is whatever happened to her strong enough to make her throw all this away?

 

He groans into the night and tosses the bottle away. The bitter taste on his tongue mingles with the saltiness of his tears as he allows them to flow, feeling like he's a little boy all over again – lost and all alone in the woods with nowhere to go and nobody who'll miss him when he's gone.

 

It's silly and he knows it. He has a good life now. People who _do_ care about him. He was fine even before Carol came along.

 

But wit her, everything suddenly felt elevated.

 

She opened his eyes to a kind of beauty and kindness he never knew. Something that lacked in his life. She filled a void he barely noticed anymore and lived with day by day, thinking this was it. But she made it clear that there was more, that he could have more, _be_ more than who he thought he was.

 

She made him feel like he deserved more.

 

More than being the sickly, beat up kid that grew into a quiet, sometimes angry man who settled for what he had – for what he thought was already more than he deserved.

 

She made him see who he could be.

 

He knows now what's possible. Maybe even without her.

 

But he doesn't want to move on. Doesn't want to give up.

 

Not on himself.

 

Not on them.

 

Not on Carol.

 

* * *

 

He's scraping the last bit of tomato sauce out of the tin when he hears a knock on his door. He mutters a curse under his breath and ignores it. Licks the spoon instead and considers heating up a second serving of ravioli. He's hungry as fuck, his stomach growling a little. He'll have to go to the store tomorrow then, though. Has been pretty much out of food since he came back from his weekend spent in the woods.

 

Unless he wants to live on two apples and dry bread for the next few days, he better drag his ass out there into the real world first thing tomorrow.

 

There's another knock on the door and he slams the spoon down onto the counter. Checking the clock on the wall, he wonders who has the nerve to bother him now. It's almost midnight.

 

The room is illuminated only by the moonlight falling in though the tiny windows and the lights of the tv, playing some documentary about super volcanoes that he barely paid any attention to during his meager dinner.

 

Ain't like he cares if the entire country goes up in flames.

 

He doesn't want to see anyone about their damn leaking pipes or dented walls - especially not now. For once, he actually feels tired. Not just exhausted, but tired. Aching to curl up in his shitty bed and fall asleep. Maybe find some rest – and not just Carol's tear-streamed face in the darkness. Telling him to go. Telling him she doesn't love him. Doesn't trust him.

 

His phone buzzes and he startles, only realizes now he's been grabbing the counter top in a vice grip. For a moment, he considers ignoring that too. To just switch it off and go the fuck to sleep, ignoring his rumbling stomach and everything else.

 

But he does look. Picks it up and feels his hand tremble when he reads the message.

 

_please open the door._

 

It's her name on the screen. Just hers.

 

_Carol,_ he gasps quietly, and within a second he tosses his phone back onto the counter and rushes towards the door. Nearly stumbles over his own bare feet and knocks into the dresser in his rush but when he reaches the door and his hand curls around the handle, he freezes.

 

How many times has he imagined her coming to him in the last two weeks? How many words did he rearrange in his head over and over, practicing them?

 

What is he supposed to do now?

 

What if she's here to end things? To cut him off completely?

 

Suddenly feeling a cold sweat breaking out all over his body, he slowly, oh so slowly, pulls the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the rather short chapter. I had a pretty busy weekend but really wanted to get another chapter out today. There are only two left after this one and I want to wrap this fic up while I'm still off work. 
> 
> We will dig into what exactly happened to Carol in the next chapter, and I hope that will give you all some answers.


	35. sophia

Her heart pounds in her chest as Daryl opens the door. The flickering light of his tv screen illuminates the hallway where she waits, arms wrapped around herself.

 

_Carol?_ His voice is quiet and soft, and it's oddly reassuring to see that he looks terrified rather than upset. It's soothing in all the wrong ways knowing this isn’t easy for him, either. She wants it to be, though. So much.

 

_Can I come in?_ she asks, scared he'll send her away again and deny her a chance to explain herself. After two weeks of silence, she almost expects him to.

 

But he doesn't. Instead, he nods. _Course,_ he murmurs, taking a step back and making room for her. His apartment smells like he just ate dinner, and she can see a plate and a can of ravioli on the counter. _Sorry 'bout the mess,_ he mutters, looking down almost bashfully as he shuts the door behind them.

 

It prompts a shy smile to curl her lips but that only lasts a fleeting second. _It's all right,_ she reassures him. She stands there in the middle of the small room, watching as he quickly shuts off the tv and switches on a small lamp on the old dresser. For a moment, the silence washes over them. _Are you- how are you?_ she asks, remembering all too well what Denise told her.

 

Daryl shrugs, sighing almost in defeat. _Been worryin' about ya._

 

Her chest feels tight and all the guilt she felt for avoiding him this long only intensifies. _I'm fi-_ , she starts, but quickly stops herself from telling him a lie. _Better,_ she says instead, her voice quiet. _I'm better._ He nods, looking slightly relieved to hear that. Cautiously, Carol takes a step towards him. _I'm so sorry._

 

His brows crease, but he doesn't retreat when she takes another step forward. _What'ya got ta be sorry for?_ he asks, sounding genuinely baffled.

 

_For sending you away like that,_ Carol explains, stopping just a foot away from him. She wants so badly to reach out, but she holds back. Too afraid of overstepping a line. _You didn't deserve that. I just couldn't-_ There'd been such a turmoil raging in her head in that moment that she struggles to put it into words now – feeling like there's no excuse for her behavior, nothing to justify it. _I wasn't ready to talk about that._

 

Daryl eyes her intently and with so much sorrow in his eyes that she looks away, down at their feet. A shiver runs through her body when he takes her hand in his – a loose hold, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. _Y'ain't gotta talk about it._

 

He sounds so reassuring, so genuinely ready to accept her silence. But she shakes her head almost instantly. She did not come here for more silence. If she ever wants to move past this, she needs to finally share the weight.

 

_I do,_ she insists, looking up at him. His features are soft in the yellow light, but there are dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks look hollow. With a drawn-out exhale, she reaches up to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard under her palm. _I know that now._

 

Daryl nods in understanding, slightly leaning into her touch. She has craved being close to him. The warmth and security of his touch.

 

Her next words rest heavily on the tip of her tongue. She knows them to be true, she knows she's ready to say them. But still she struggles to form them, her tongue dry and her heart stuttering. But she chooses to focus on Daryl's hand around her own instead, leans in a little closer. _I- I love you, Daryl._ His eyes widen a little and his lips part on a silent gasp. Before she can regret this, before she loses the last of her courage, she breeches the remaining distance between them brushes her lips over his. It's barely a kiss, more a feather-light promise. _And I want this. Us,_ she whispers, pressing her forehead to his.

 

He is breathing heavily, his eyes not straying from her own. _This isn't something I can hide if we're going to-_ She doesn't know what their future will hold, what either of them are capable of. Frustrated with herself, she pulls away from him, pacing the room for a few seconds. She's restless, no matter how convinced she is that this is the right thing to do.

 

Eventually, she sits down on the edge of his unmade bed, folding her hands in her lap, palms faced upward. _I always wanted to have children,_ she confesses, a familiar bitterness spreading through her veins because she'll always be denied this desire. _To be a mother._ Cautiously, she watches as Daryl stands there, listening. Hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.

 

After a short, loaded pause, Carol continues. _Ed wanted them, too. Not because he wanted to be a father,_ she scoffs. He wouldn't have done a thing to help. _It just- It would have made for a picture perfect family. That's what he always wanted to sell._

 

Nothing was more important to him. The well-kept suburban house with the white picket fence and a brand new car in the driveway. All she was meant to be was the perfect housewife. He rarely hurt her in places where anybody could notice – not unless he was in a drunken rage. And even then she'd be expected to come up with an elaborate explanation of how she ended up with a black eye or a broken arm. It was all about keeping appearances with Ed.

 

_But we had some trouble,_ she sighs, remembering those early days of their marriage. _I had a few miscarriages after we got married. Always really early on._ She grows quiet, feeling a dull ache as she remembers those moments when her joy crumbled and her dream was taken away from her.

 

Daryl exhales heavily then, making his way over to her. The mattress dips under his weight when he sits down by her side, taking one of her hands in between his own. _'m sorry,_ he breathes, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He doesn't pull away afterward, and she tucks her head under his chin, seeking the warmth and comfort he can give before she continues.

 

_Ed was always so angry,_ she says quietly. _Back then, he was... predictable. It was always the same things that set him off and I learned to avoid those._ Her days were filled with the same routine over and over and she stuck to them religiously to avoid her husband's rage. Keep the house clean. Have dinner on the table. Only his favorites. No experiments. Don't talk too much to the neighbors. Give him what he wants at night. She learned to decipher him quickly. _Made it easier to tell myself it was all my fault. Every time I lost a baby... He blamed me for it. Told me I failed as a woman. Things like that._ It was always down to her in his book. An he never relented in telling her how unworthy and plain and useless she was. _And I believed him,_ she sighs.

 

Daryl's arm curls around her, fingertips ghosting up and down her spine soothingly. Wrapped up in him like this, she feels almost strong enough to keep on talking, even though fear is still making her feel nauseous. _Then I got pregnant again and... I made it past the first trimester. And the second._ Her lips curl into a sad smile that Daryl can not see as she remembers every doctor's visit, every book she read, every tiny onesie she bought in anticipation. _I was so, so happy. I kept telling myself that maybe with a baby around everything would get better._ Daryl's grip on her hand tightens a little when she pauses, wondering now how she could have been so delusional back then. _But..._

 

She did not even realize the tears that were burning in her eyes until they spill over and soak into Daryl's shirt. _Hey, come 'ere,_ he whispers when he notices, and he barely has time to scoot back against the wall and pull her into his lap before she crumbles. _Take ya time,_ he murmurs into her ear, feathering kisses over her forehead and cheeks, cradling her head against his chest. Carol sobs, clinging to him, trying to even her breathing. _Y'ain't gotta do this now._

 

Wiping away the tears on her cheek, Carol takes a deep breath. _I want to,_ she insists, having no intention of stopping now that she's come so far. _But... I never told anyone this before. Never._ Daryl tenses a little against her, holds her tighter than before. _Not even Lori._ Lori only knows she had a few miscarriages, knows that one was later into the pregnancy. She doesn't know anything else.

 

It always seemed impossible to talk about this before.

 

_Things were... all right. When I was pregnant Ed usually... He didn't hurt me as much._ He wanted children to keep up the facade, so he usually barely laid a hand on her. Instead, he resorted to what she now knows was emotional abuse – but back then she simply thought he was pointing out the truth. _Not physically, at least,_ she adds. _But one night- It was like... I spent a long time trying to figure out what set him off that night. I still don't know._ It had all happened so fast, and her memories are hazy from the trauma of it. _Just... He was suddenly so angry,_ she whispers, fingers curling into Daryl’s shirt. _He screamed at me and tried to- He grabbed me and pulled my hair. It hurt so much, Daryl._

 

Gently, he cradles her head, sifts his fingers through her silver curls – replacing bad memories with better ones.

 

It was a week later that she chopped off all of her long, curly hair. Determined for Ed to never grab a hold of it again.

 

_I tried to get away but... I was almost eight months pregnant, I wasn't fast enough,_ she recounts, remembering the panic that had pushes her forward all those years ago – to no avail. _And he just kept coming after me._

 

She shudders with a fear that should have long passed. But recalling that night in such detail for the first time since it happened – it stirs whatever remains of those demons Ed planted inside of her forever.

 

_Sssh...,_ Daryl hums, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. His arms are enclosing her and Carol pulls herself closer, their chests flush, her thighs locked tightly around his. She can't look at him now, but she needs to feel him as close as she can. Maybe if he holds her like this, she won't fall apart.

 

_I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom,_ she recalls. _Let him cool down. But I never got there._ Pausing, she focuses on the sound of Daryl’s heart where it beats beneath her ear. It's a steady rhythm that soothes her, and she takes a minute to calm herself before she keeps talking.

 

_He grabbed me from behind and-_ Everything after that is blurry, her mind clouded except for a few razor sharp snippets of memory. _I don't remember if I tripped or if he pushed me. I really don't know anymore. Maybe it was both,_ she says breathlessly, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. _I fell down the stairs._ Daryl sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, the hand on her back freezing – she can feel his fingers curling into a fist.

 

She remembers how it felt to have the air knocked out of her lungs, scrambling to breathe. The way the ground fell away and she desperately tried to hold on to something. The pain that shot through her.

 

_I can still see him standing at the top of the stairs,_ she admits, the image branded into her mind. _Looking down._ It's Daryl who shudders now, clearly trying to hold in his anger at a man he never met.

 

Carol clears her throat, eyes fluttering shut. _I was bleeding so he called an ambulance. Told them he'd drive to the hospital himself, but he never did._ She's silent for a moment, remembering those days in the hospital with nobody by her side, none of her own clothes to wear, nothing. _I was all alone there._

 

Daryl's hand flattens out again as her words fade into silence, his palm continuing its journey up and down her back. T _hey told me the baby was dead but I knew that already,_ she tells him, and she knows that he put the pieces of the puzzle together because there's no physical reaction from him at all. _I gave birth to her two days later._

 

She can see her little girl in the darkness behind her closed eyes. How perfect and beautiful she'd been. Soft and small and breakable. Broken. _Her name was Sophia,_ she whispers, clutching at Daryl's shirt so hard now that she's sure she's leaving crescent shaped marks behind underneath. _She was so tiny,_ she gasps, struggling to breathe.

 

Daryl hums softly, one of his hands finding hers and pressing it to his breastbone. Feeling it rise and fall with each breath until her own evens out again.

 

They're both quiet for a long moment afterward, her memories clinging to the very air around them. It's out in the open now, no longer a secret, and it feels overwhelming to her. Until this day, the little girl she held in her arms and buried was just her own. She didn't exists for anyone else but her.

 

She swallows then, her throat feeling swollen and her mouth dry. _There were some complications after and- They told me it was unlikely I'd ever have another child,_ she explains. He never asked her why protection was unnecessary – maybe because he didn't want to overstep a line. But he deserves to know this, too. _And I didn't. I never got pregnant again._

 

In all the years that followed until she finally ran away, she never once carried another child. And she was grateful for it. Knowing then that a baby would not soften Ed. She'd only bring a child into the world to suffer, too.

 

But now, she mourns the loss of that possibility more than she ever thought she would.

 

_After... That's when Ed started to get unpredictable._ She realizes a somberness to her own voice that's familiar by now. _He was never the same. Started drinking a lot._ It's easier to talk about this than to speak of her little girl. Daryl knows what kind of a man Ed was. And while she won't ever go into detail, opening up a little more about the ordeal of her marriage isn't as daunting of a task. _Sometimes he'd come home in the middle of the night piss drunk and-_ A shiver runs down her spine at the memories of his large, sweaty hands on her, the accolade on his breath as he forced himself on her. _It was so much worse than before,_ she says, barely audible now.

 

It wasn't until after Sophia that Carol realized that everything she'd always believed to be her own fault had been Ed's. All the love she thought she felt for him turned to resentment. It paved the way for that day years later when she finally decided to claim back her life and run.

 

_Sometimes, I wondered if he actually regretted what he did that night,_ she muses, a thought that has caused her many sleepless nights a long time ago. _But it doesn't matter. He just pretended she never existed._

 

He never mentioned her, never blamed Carol for their daughter’s death, never visited her grave. Tore down the nursery and turned it into _his_ room. She was never allowed in there, and she never wanted to be.

 

_But she did,_ she whispers, overcome by a sadness so profound that it feels like stones settling in her guts. _She was real. I held her in my arms._ Her voice nearly breaks, as fragile as spun glass. _And I- I wish she was here now,_ she confesses, finally leaning back far enough to look up at Daryl. There are tears glistening in his eyes and she reaches up to wipe away the salty trails on his cheeks. _Especially now._

 

His throat bops as he swallows, and he nods in understanding a second later. _How old would she be today?_ he asks, his voice hoarse as he cups her cheek in his palm and pulls her close enough to press their foreheads together.

 

_Twelve,_ Carol replies, inching forward to softly nudge the tip of her nose against his. Images of her little girl all grown up shoot through her head. What would she look like? What would she be like? _She'd be twelve._

 

_Wish I could've met her,_ Daryl murmurs, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth. Sweet and undemanding, a reassurance as much as a promise.

 

Carol nods, raking her fingertips through his hair, relishing in the way his eyelids flutter shut. The comfort he gave her eases from her now and she's glad he's accepting it in return. Sophia might have been _her_ loss, but he just went through two weeks of suffering as collateral damage and she wants him to understand that it was never her intention to leave him behind.

 

_I wish we could have been a family,_ she admits. It's easy to imagine. The three of them together, happy and content. Maybe a sibling or two for Sophia, maybe a dog or a cat or all of that. Living whatever life they want to live.

 

She gets to live the life the wants to live now, but there'll always be something missing.

 

_I love ya, ya know that?_ Daryl rasps, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. He catches a few teardrops that cling to her lashes like morning dew and wipes them away.

 

Her lips curl into a smile, one that costs her no pain. _I know,_ she whispers, pressing her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this gave some insight into what exactly happened and why Carol struggled so much to open up about it. But it's out now and the path is clear for them to move forward. In the next - and last - chapter, we'll see how that goes for them :)


	36. home sweet home

The late autumn air is crisp, a light breeze sending stray leafs flying over the stone in the courtyard. The gray sky above speckled with hints of blue. It smells like smoke and grilled meat, something homely and comforting.

 

Music plays from a radio over by the staircase that's still covered in carved pumpkins, people are laughing, Carl and the Morales' kids running like mad in circles around the fountain that's set in the middle of the courtyard.

 

Aaron and Rick are standing over by the grill, handing it out burgers and steaks. A large camping table is loaded with food – everything from salads to breads and cakes. Flames are licking the fire pit in the center of the new sitting area – a round stone bench with plants peaking out from the cracks that make it look weathered and old.

 

People are standing in small groups, laughing and eating and enjoying this beautiful day.

 

Everything feels comfortably light.

 

Except for the huge cat curled up in his lap.

 

_I think she likes you more than me,_ Carol muses, her head resting against his shoulder. She's raking her fingers through Shiva's soft fur in a steady pattern. The cat purrs even more than she did before, turning slightly into her back in his lap.

 

Daryl snorts, resting his hand against Shiva's fluffy belly, round with a respectable pooch. _Weird, since ya the one givin' her all those damn treats,_ he says. There's half a cabinet full of cat teats in their kitchen – a little too much considering all they do is cat-sit Shiva every other day when Ezekiel is out of town with the theater company.

 

It's nice to have the little ball of fluff curled up on the sofa with them or chasing feathers across the apartment they share now. But Carol can't resist feeding her with all sorts of treats – and damn if the cat doesn't go for it.

 

_That's not true!_ Carol gasps, pulling away to pout a little. All too quickly, it turns into a grin, though. She knows as well as he does that she's guilty here. _Well, maybe sometimes,_ she admits, leaning back against him. The fire in front of them crackles, obscuring the view of most of their other neighbors enjoying the little feast they decided to throw now that the courtyard is finally done.

 

All the hard work paid of, and today is proof of that.

 

_I was thinking-_ Carol says quietly after a while, looking up at him. Her hair is growing out more and more, curling softly around her face, shimmering in the orange glow of the flames. _Do you..._ She seems a little nervous, chewing on her question for a while and he runs his hand up and down her back soothingly to reassure her. _What about getting one of own?_ she asks eventually, nodding down at the purring cat in his lap. _I walked past the shelter the other day and thought... Maybe we could-_

 

_I'd love ta,_ he quickly interrupts her before she tries to talk herself out of this idea. Some days, she still struggles to ask for things, to suggest or share ideas and he knows it's due to old demons that still haunt her. During her marriage, suggesting anything, even the most innocent wish, would have earned her a beating.

 

He knows the fear too well. Some of the scars on his back were caused by his childhood naivety – asking for a new toy, asking for something nice for dinner. Asking for anything, really.

 

Carol's eyes widen. _Really?_

 

He smiles, shrugging his shoulders. _Sure,_ he agrees. She could ask for a ferret and he wouldn't say no. Anything that makes her happy is good in his book. _Always really wanted a dog but I guess we ain't got the space for one._ That's been his dream since he was a kid. A big, strong dog to look out for him. But Carol's apartment is small, his old place in the basement even smaller. Then again, Gregory is moving out by the end of the year and his apartment is much bigger. Dale has mentioned the idea of the two of them moving in there once or twice, but Daryl hasn't brought it up with Carol yet.

 

_Can't have everythin', right?_ he sighs. Maybe they won't live here until they're old and gray. Maybe one day, they'll have enough room for a bunch of cats _and_ a dog. A house for themselves.

 

Carol's eyes grow distant then, and she turns away. _No,_ she breathes. When he follows her gaze, he realizes what she's thinking about. Maggie is standing across the yard, talking to Amy, her two-month-old baby boy cradled in her arms. Glenn is standing beside her, hand against her lower back. A family.

 

Feeling his chest tighten, Daryl wishes he never would have said anything. He knows it isn't easy for Carol to see the baby around, to hear it crying and fussing in the hallway sometimes. It always reminds her of everything she has lost and he wishes so badly he could give her what she wants. But it's not up to him.

 

_He's fat,_ he murmurs, trying to ease the mood. He isn't wrong. He's never seen such a fat baby before. Rolls and chubby cheeks and all.

 

Carol snorts, her face lighting up again. _He's adorable,_ she insists, nudging her elbow into his ribs.

 

Shiva stirs a little, making a disgruntled sound and yawning long and wide.

 

_But fat,_ Daryl repeats, glad to see the smile on her face. Things have improved over the last few months. She's seeing someone – an actual therapist – and he's grateful that she does. After everything she endured, he was afraid he wouldn't be enough to keep her steady and make her feel supported. She's making progress, and he can feel that between them.

 

He's making progress, too, even though he's not yet ready to get the professional help he should have sought decades ago. Feels more ready to open up about his past than he was before. It's become easier to talk about how he feels, and that's something he never thought he'd accomplish.

 

Carol clears her throat then, straightening her shoulders a little. _There's something I wanted to talk to you ab-_

 

_Greetings, my dear friends,_ Ezekiel interrupts them, stepping past the fire and into full view. He's wearing that heavy coat again, arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture. The guy is a joke, but he's decent and Daryl can't deny he's damn dedicated. _I see Shiva is well taken care of once more._

 

_We try,_ Carol replies, smiling softly down at the little tiger in question.

 

Ezekiel shakes his head. _You excel,_ he praises. Daryl feels a familiar wave of embarrassment washing over him, but he still nods. People showing trust and appreciation in him is still new and requires a great deal of courage for him to accept. But it's worth it. Even he has to admit that.

 

Taking a look around, Ezekiel smiles brightly. _This is truly a magical place you created,_ he says with a deep voice. He's not wrong.

 

When it came to putting all the money they made from selling the things up in the attic, Carol was the one to bring up the idea of investing it in the rather sad and plain looking courtyard. Bringing back the conversation they had about it months ago when it had been just a joking remark. Dale was enthusiastic about investing in the building, and he'd given the green light before he ever heard specific plans.

 

Everybody in the house pitched in – with the exception of Gregory – and together they managed to completely transform the place within just over two months. Where everything was empty and unused before, it's now bursting with small vegetables patches and raised flower beds all along the back wall, a large array of fresh herbs growing in small pots on a ladder against the old brick wall separating the courtyard from the one behind it. The fountain in the middle, the seating area around the fire pit, a huge sandbox for the kids.

 

It's idyllic now. A place to gather and spend time together. Not just where you go to take out the trash and store your rusty bicycle.

 

_Couldn't have done without y'all,_ Daryl admits, and from the corner of his eye he can see Carol nodding in agreement. They'd all spent hours and hours out here, working in the sun, joking and laughing. People would bring food out, and more often than not they'd sit out here in camping chairs long until the sun went down.

 

For the first time in his life, Daryl felt like he was part of a family.

 

Theatrically, Ezekiel bends his head. _It was my pleasure. If you'll excuse me now,_ he adds, reaching out for Shiva who yawns once more as Daryl hands her over. Carol says goodbye with a last ruffle of the soft fur beneath Shiva's chin, and then it's just the two of them.

 

Carol burrows a little closer into him, wrapping her arms around his stomach. _He's not still doing that play, right?_ she asks and he can hear the smile in her voice.

 

_No,_ he replies. That play had run its course months ago, but apparently Ezekiel had emerged himself a little too deeply into his character and plenty of those weird, borderline creepy characteristics remained.

 

By now, it's who he is, and nobody really minds anymore.

 

_Daryl?_

 

It's Lori who walks over to them, carrying a plate of potato salad and an exhausted, annoyed expression. The sun is still in the sky, but it's lowering steadily, casting a hazy sort of light on them all.

 

_Yeah?_ he replies, running his hand up and down Carol's back as she shivers slightly.

 

Lori comes to a halt, sighing. _Carl wants to know if they can open the sandbox?_ Over her shoulder, he can see the Grimes' kid and his friends, all watching from a safe distance. He almost snorts because he never really figured they'd be scared of him. Ain't no reason to be – other than those few times he reminded Carl not to ride his damn bike in the hallway.

 

_Sure, they ain't gotta ask permission,_ he explains, waving at the wooden sandbox over by the moss wall they put up to hide the ugly old concrete wall behind it. _'s for the kids. They better not get the damn sand everywhere, though._

 

Lori grins at that, throwing Carol a curious look. He eyes her as her friend walks away, and there's a glint in her eyes. The sandbox had been her idea, and maybe he sounds like a proper grumpy janitor right now, worrying about getting sand everywhere.

 

The kids squeal when Lori gets there and tells them the good news, jumping up and down. The sight of that alone was worth dragging a dozen sacks of sand down here last week with Rick pestering him about coming along to a fishing trip in the spring.

 

His skin tingles when Carol presses a kiss against his shoulder. _I'm glad we did this,_ she breathes, smiling up at him all dream-like. God, she's beautiful. Every morning he wakes up next to her he thinks he's dreaming all over again. Even after all this time he still can't believe she's real, is afraid to accept the happiness she brings him as his new reality. It's just as fragile as they both are, and he knows that they have to treat it carefully.

 

_Yeah, me too,_ he rasps, his voice much hoarser than he intended it to be. Softly, he trails his thumb over her cheekbone, her pale, freckled skin flushed pink from the crisp air and the heat of the fire. _Wonder what the old witch would say if she could see this._ He nods towards the gathering of people, and then leans down to press a quick kiss to Carol's lips.

 

_Maybe she is,_ Carol muses, smiling into the kiss before pulling away enough to nuzzle her face into his neck. All warm and soft.

 

The old witch had passed away last month, or so Dale told them. God knows she'd probably been four-hundred years old. He doesn't really feel any sadness, but during those afternoons he spent in the attic with Carol, sorting trough the remnants of that woman's life, he got to know her a little better.

 

Still, she'd be scandalized right now.

 

After all the odd coincidences that have led Carol and him here, the thought of the old witch sitting on a bench in hell somewhere glaring at them doesn't actually seem too far-fetched. _Been hauntin' our asses for a while, I guess,_ he murmurs, remembering all those leaking faucets, broken doors and enormous spiders that guided their way all too well. Driving him right into her arms.

 

Carol smiles brightly, her hands curling around his neck, fingertips sifting through the hair at the base of his skull. _I'm glad she did,_ she whispers, and he doesn't get a chance to agree before she's kissing him. Languid and deep, sending a shudder through his body. Her tongue wet and warm as it traces the seam of his lips and he can't help but grasp her hip, pulling her a little closer.

 

_Get a room, you two!_ Someone calls suddenly, causing them to jump apart. With flushed cheeks, they turn to see Tara standing across the fire with a bottle of beer, beaming at them. Denise is standing right behind her, chin resting on Tara's shoulder, rolling her eyes.

 

Daryl feels his mouth opening and closing like a damn fish, not sure what to say. This is why he doesn't usually do this. Kiss Carol for everyone to see. At least not like this. Ain't nobody's business after all.

 

He can see Carol trying to say something – hopefully something as witty as what she comes up with to torment him so regularly – but Abraham comes marching past that very second, a burger in one hand and Rosita's arm curled around the other.

 

_Trust me, ya don't wanna hear 'em goin' at it all night long,_ he hollers with a loud, booming laughter that drowns out the music and the squealing kids.

 

_Look who's talking!_ Tara calls after him, and everybody starts laughing then, the awkwardness of the moment quickly evaporating.

 

Still, his cheeks feel warm and his palms clammy, and Carol notices. Of course she does. _Wanna get some food?_ she whispers, soothingly running her hand across the back of his hand.

 

_Yeah,_ he murmurs, grateful for the chance to get away from Tara and Denise who are both more than a little tipsy and that can only lead to more uncomfortable remarks the longer they stay here. Carol stands then, tugging him up. Her cold, delicate fingers entwine with his as they push past their friends – earning themselves a wink from Tara.

 

Slowly, they make their way through the small crowd. Daryl takes it all in. The serenity and joy of this evening. Something he's been allowed so much of lately that he feels drunk on it. But what really lingers is the feeling of Carol pressed into his side, holding his hand, making him feel complete.

 

_So, what did ya wanna talk about?_ he asks, remembering she'd been about to say something earlier when Ezekiel showed up – who is currently holding Shiva in his arms like a baby, talking animatedly to Morgan.

 

Carol smiles up at him, nuzzling her nose against his shoulder. _I'll tell you later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, this is it. This chapter gave me quite the headache and I hope the fist fights I had with it don't shine through.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments, it's been so fun so write this fic and you guys were all so amazing and sweet. Thank you :)
> 
> I'm _maybe not so much a little bit possibly maybe sorry_ for the cliffhanger-ish ending – but I'd love to hear your thoughts on what Carol wants to discuss. You have all the options :)
> 
> And one last time we have a visual for the [seating area](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/0b/5d/00/0b5d0025d96961a6550aa43dc81952a8.jpg) in the brand new courtyard paradise.


End file.
